


Tomb Raider: The Golden Seal

by Meldelen



Category: Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (2001 2003) RPF, Tomb - Fandom, Tomb Raider & Related Fandoms, Tomb Raider (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 60,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5350988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldelen/pseuds/Meldelen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first Tomb Raider fanfic, a sequel to Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness.</p>
<p>Lara finds out that Kurtis’ alive from the Chirugai’s activity and a visit from Marten Gunderson, Cabal’s head of mercenaries. He reveals her that Karel, as the last one of his keen, is bounded by a supernatural fate to his ancestral enemy, the last one of the Lux Veritatis, which is Kurtis’ himself. They can’t fight each other because if one dies, the other will too, and so the natural equilibrium of the world -good and evil- will be restablished. There’s only a way to break this binding, which is to master the True Option, a clue that, handled by a chosen woman -the so-called Amazonian-, can decide which one lives and which one dies. </p>
<p>Grateful for what he did for her at the Strahov, Lara decides to help him so he can survive to his doomed fate. She contacts him at Cappadocia and they start a quest for the True Option which will lead them through Turkey, Romania, Egypt and, finally, Greece, always guided by Kurtis’ changing ring, which leads the way: The Golden Seal. This journey will reveal Lara not only she’s the foretold Amazonian, but also will drag her through feelings she’s not comfortable with: hate, temptation, and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Visit In Surrey

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Tomb Raider: El Sello Áureo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609213) by [Meldelen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldelen/pseuds/Meldelen)
  * A translation of [Tomb Raider: El Sello Áureo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609213) by [Meldelen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldelen/pseuds/Meldelen). 



**Tomb Raider: The Golden Seal**

_The first thing she did, before even giving herself time to recover, was come back to the place where she had left him. She was greatly dismayed when she could not find him._

_She found the corpse of the abomination that he battled, but at the spot where Kurtis had fallen there was nothing but a large pool of blood, and in the middle of it, his wondrous weapon, the Chirugai. Lara picked it up and when she did, the disc suddenly began to faintly vibrate in her hand and started to pull her away. She arose and turned toward where the disc led her, but then its blades retracted abruptly. Before her awaited looming darkness._

_Lara clutched the Chirugai in her hand and smiled. She didn't fully understand what it all meant, since she knew as little about that strange magic as she did about its owner. Despite this, she knew in her heart that no matter how serious his wound, he was out there still alive, and he was calling for help._

_The adventurer went into the darkness, following the lead of the Chirugai, searching for Kurtis Trent._

 

**Chapter 1: A Visit In Surrey**

After the ordeal in Prague, Lara returned to her Manor. Winston could see that she was upset and moody, and understandably so; after all, the French police were still handling her as the number one suspect for Von Croy’s murder, since they had no other suspect in the Monstrum case... but it seemed as though she didn’t care about that.

What was she supposed to tell them? That the Monstrum were actually two people, a fallen angel and an 800-year-old alchemist? That both of them were now dead and, even worse than that, she was the one who killed them? Not a very convincing story, but Winston didn’t need explanations. He knew Lara very well and everything she said could be trusted; when it was all said and done, she was far more like a daughter than an employer, and in the past he has heard far more outlandish things from her for him to question her on this. But now she seemed to dwell in another world, spending her days examining that weird star-shaped bladed disc she'd brought with her from Prague, waiting to see if it moved. But the Chirugai was motionless, cold. Since its last vibrations at the Strahov - drawing her towards a possible path - it hadn't shown another signal. It was dead, and so was its owner – as far as she knew.

Lara refused to believe it. Not because she felt something special for that _stranger_ , well, at least nothing except a little loyalty and maybe some responsibility. He'd entrusted her with the Periapt Shards so that she could kill the Black Alchemist; he'd helped her to escape by covering her retreat...she owed him, at least, some thanks. She had to give him his weapon back. She had to tell him that the Lux Veritatis’ mission was fulfilled, that his greatest enemies no longer existed...

A sound woke her from her thoughts. She jumped off the couch and answered the door before Winston, troubled by age, could reach it. None other than Marten Gunderson, the Cabal Mercenary Leader, greeted an astonished Lara by aiming a gun at her face.

“Leave us, Winston,” Lara ordered while staring down Gunderson.

“Where is he?” the killer asked.

“Who?”

“Your friend. The last Lux Veritatis. He’s not dead, and we need him.”

“For what?”

“That's not your business.”

“Get out of my house!” She commanded, and went to close the door, but before she could he turned his gun to Winston.

“You'll speak by hook or by crook...”

Lara didn't let him finish. As the mercenary was looking at the butler, she kicked him in the crotch. The hefty fellow lost his breath for a moment, so Lara took advantage by struggling with him for his gun and managed to wrench it from his hands. Then Winston hit him on his bare head with a nearby placed candelabrum. Marten Gunderson, commendable mercenary who had been Kurtis' boss at the Agency, disgracefully fell unconscious to the floor.

“Let me tell you, Miss,” stammered Winston, “I don't really approve of your latest friendships...”

“What's going on?” Lara said, unloading Gunderson’s weapon. “Why does he think I know where Kurtis is?”

“I don’t know, Miss, but I'd do something with him, and pretty soon, before he wakes up.”

 

* * *

 

When Gunderson recovered he was tied to a chair, with Lara scornfully glaring at him and playing with his unloaded gun. Winston watched them with the candelabrum nearby, just in case.

“So,” she said, “I gather neither of us know where Kurtis is.”

“I don’t believe you,” said the killer, showing a nonchalance that didn’t match his pathetic situation.

“Why would I protect him?”

“You know who he is, don’t you?”

“The last Lux Veritatis. So what? The freaks that hired you to do their dirty work for them no longer exist. The Cabal are no more than a memory.”

Gunderson exploded in grotesque laughter.

“What's so funny?” Lara asked, feeling suddenly annoyed.

“You really think, little fool, you managed to kill Karel?” Lara raised an eyebrow, so he continued. “You killed the Black Alchemist. After all, Eckhardt, my _Meister_ , was no more than a tool in his great plan. Karel's old...and eternal. His real name can't be revealed. He's the last Nephilim, and you can't kill him. He’s immortal.”

“Then how do you explain that the _Nephili_ are almost extinct, with him being him the last of his kind?”

“In fact, _Nephili_ can only be killed by Lux Veritatis... and that being the case, the Lux Veritatis dies too. If one of the two survives, the other also does. It's a mystery only they can understand.”

Lara frowned. So Kurtis and Karel were alive. But that meant...

“Yes,” Gunderson answered. “Good and Evil. Each is annulled by the other but at the same time they are each other’s foil.”

“And that's why you need to find Kurtis? To kill him? You'll kill your new master too, and I don't think he's interested in that outcome.”

“There's an object which can undo that mutual linkage. Whoever discovers the True Option will be granted the decision to give death to the Nephilim or to the Lux Veritatis, and to decide the world’s fate.”

“And that object is...?”

“Kurtis’ ring. The Golden Seal.”

“And you expect him to just kindly hand over the Seal? I thought you were smarter than that…”

“How much do you want for him?” the killer asked.

Now it was her turn to burst out laughing. “If you intend to bribe me, you’re wasting your time. I’m overrun with money.”

“But you don't have a clean background, right? Give me Kurtis, and I'll make the police forget about you. I'll have your records expunged.”

Lara hated having a stranger know so much about her. “You’re still at a disadvantage.”

Gunderson sneered, and then suddenly jumped towards her though he was still tied to the chair. Lara easily avoided his attack, causing him to fall to the floor again.

“May I hit him, miss?” Winston asked, poised with the candelabrum ready to strike.

Lara was tempted to say yes, but she knew it would be pointless. She took a knife from her boot and cut through Gunderson's binding. He seemed to consider listening to her before attacking again.

“Listen, I don’t know where Kurtis is. And even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you.”

Winston smiled. That was his girl! He didn't know much about this Kurtis, and he was sure that finding about him was only going to spell more trouble, but that man had no right to break into the house and target Lara.

“Now,” she repeated, _“get out of my house.”_

And she pointed the door with a simple wave of her hand. Could anything be more humiliating? Marten Gunderson himself tossed onto the streets like a naughty child!

“Maybe you're telling the truth,” he said then, “and you really don’t know where the Lux Veritatis is. But you'll look for him, won’t you? Now that you know how much is at stake. I’m not fighting you now...but I’ll keep an eye on you. Both me and my men. And when you find him...we will too.”

He left, and then Lara slammed the door with a bang.

“Miss,” Winston interjected, “is it really necessary to find that man?”

Lara sighed. “Yes. Even if Gunderson’s story is only nonsense - and what I've seen until now makes me think otherwise - Kurtis is the only one besides me who knows everything that happened. If I encounter serious problems with the police concerning Von Croy’s murder... only he can stand up for me.”

Winston nodded, but in fact he doubted the authorities would pay attention to rants about alchemists and fallen angels. Well, Lara would handle it. She was very clever; she had always been.

“I'll take the risk. I must find Kurtis,” repeated Lara in a low voice, as if Winston was not there, “but, how?”

 

* * *

 

Lara spent the next couple days with the Chirugai hanging off her belt, waiting for the slightest sign of movement. She, who had found lost treasures, who had discovered the most hidden places... and she didn't know how to find a man. Her only hope lay in an object that showed, like a cardiac monitor, the vital constants of the only one able to operate it.

Von Croy might have laughed at her...or no, she thought with sadness, because her mentor had ended up being murdered by a creature that he himself would have written off as mythical in his youth.

 

* * *

 

Three days after Gunderson's visit, the Chirugai began to move again. Lara was sleeping when a sudden bang in the closet woke her up. Before asking herself what that was, her natural instinct already reacted: she jumped out of bed, took the gun that was always under her pillow - a personal habit that the pacifist Winston hadn't been able to break her of - and crouched down. She ran towards the closet and opened it, and there was the blade, open and nailed in the closet's door, as if trying to escape. She put the gun aside and took the disc. Apparently the weapon noticed her and began to vibrate again, smoothly pulling her arm away and in a different direction. Lara drifted, following its path, until she finally stopped at the manor’s iron gates. She realized it was pointing to the East.

“The East,” she said, looking at the object, “same direction it pointed in Prague...why didn’t I follow it then? Perhaps it's too late...”

But the Chirugai didn’t seem to agree, as it kept on pulling her and began to cast a slight sparkly orange hue... was it her imagination, or did it’s energy seemed renewed?

The East...what was in the East? While she mentally ran across that direction, she remembered the words of that Cabal's scientist, Grant Müller, before he sprayed her with insecticide. _We already have the last vital element from Turkey here in the Strahov. The only true remaining Nephilim. The Cubiculum Nephili, the Sleeper._

“To the East...” she repeated. “Turkey. The _Nephili’s_ home.”

If it wasn't there, it hardly could be elsewhere.

“Well.” She smiled. “Towards Turkey!”

And the Chirugai, satisfied, retracted its blades and went still. Its mission, for the moment, was fulfilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by Kaworu.


	2. The Turkish Archaeologist

 

Turkey. The land caught between East and West. Its most beautiful city had changed name three times: from Byzantium to Constantinople, back to Byzantium, and now Istanbul. There stood Lara, trying to be inconspicuous among the crowd, and failing. She drew attention even among Western people, and was drawing double that here.

Veiled women dressed all in black stared unmercifully at the shameless Western woman walking around with her long dark braid and her athletic body. Reproachable behaviour in the eyes of these honourable mothers and wives. “She might not have a man to command and protect her,” whispered one.

“Ah!” Sighed the other one. “Shame!”

Lara heard it and of course, also understood it. She turned towards them and flashed a carefree smile, all the while thinking: _Old witches_. The two ladies, scandalized by her attitude, spat on the ground in her way.

Truth be told, a part of the Turkish people had got tired of all the traditions. Some who crossed paths with the British explorer looked at her without judgement.

 

* * *

 

A certain example of this gradual liberation was the person with whom Lara was arranged to meet. She was Selma Al-Jazeera, an archaeologist like her, but she neither carried guns nor participated in crazy antics (in this matter, Lara was from a unique species). Like other archaeologists, she was a respectable member of National Geographic, who subsidized their excavations taking place in Cappadocia. She was also an expert in Jewish mythology and Satanic symbolism.

“The great Lara Croft.” Said the young archaeologist, shaking her hand, “It’s an honour to meet you.”

“My pleasure, Selma.” She smiled. “I'll get to the point quickly: have you ever heard about the Cabal?”

She blinked, confused. “Of course. It’s the secret cosmology of Jewish religion.”

“I’m not talking about _that_ Cabal. I’m talking about those who believed in the Nephilim's return.”

Selma remained still before suddenly standing and, to Lara’s surprise, closing the doors and window shades.

“Excuse me, are we being spied on?”

“Here, the Cabal is an open secret. Everybody knows about them, but nobody will talk. How do you know about them?”

Lara considered her answer for a while. Finally, she decided she must trust somebody if she wanted to progress in her quest. “Let me start at the beginning. Did you know Professor Werner Von Croy?”

“Yes, I worked with him a couple of years ago. He was another great figure of archaeology.” Said Selma. “He was murdered recently, according to some sources of mine.” Suddenly, she remembered _who_ was suspected to be his murderer.

Lara raised a hand. “Before you say anything, let me tell you the truth. All this began when a terrified Werner called me from Paris, asking me to go to his apartment as soon as I could...”

 

* * *

 

An astonished Selma listened to the whole story, twisting her fingers from time to time. Lara noticed this and also that she seemed to recognize the names of the Cabal members she was talking about. When Lara finished, both remained silent.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Tried Lara.

“Yes, I believe you.” Selma said, “Everything you said matches with what I’ve studied all these years...and with what happened here.” Then she lowered her voice. “A few months ago, my colleagues and I were working in my excavation at Cappadocia, when we found something under the sand. A Nephilim cemetery.”

Lara looked surprised.

“We didn’t know what to do. Those creatures there, locked in stone chambers… they were not human. All were dead though…save for one.”

“The Sleeper,” Lara said.

“Exactly. And just a week later, he appeared. Eckhardt.” She got up and started wandering around the room like a lost soul. “He arrived when I was out at a lecture. I knew nothing until it was too late. Most of my workers had been bribed...and with Eckhardt there was that ghastly Karel...he killed those who refused to deliver the Sleeper. One of them was my boyfriend.”

“I’m so sorry.” Lara said.

“They loaded the Sleeper's stone chamber onto a truck and left. I hadn't heard anything further on the matter until a couple of weeks ago, when he arrived here.”

“Who?” asked Lara.

“Kurtis Trent.”

Lara felt shocked, but decided to try to disprove her. “That's impossible. Kurtis is dead. As I told you, the amount of blood I found on the floor… even the strongest man couldn’t survive after losing that much.”

“He didn't come on his own.” Said Selma. “He was brought.”

“By who?”

Selma sat down again, this time next to her. “I don’t know. There were several people, most of them older. They seemed to be members of some cult.”

“The Lux Veritatis?” Said Lara. “Kurtis is supposed to be the last one.”

“Whoever they were, they saved his life! I was told to take care of him, that he'd been in the hospital long enough to ensure he was no longer at the edge of death, but after that, he was transferred here, to Turkey...to my house.”

“Why you?” Lara asked. “Who are you?”

“Me? Nobody. At first I was reluctant to accept him, but they insisted it was necessary, until the person who should come to look for him arrived.” Then the Turkish archaeologist looked at her uneasy. “They knew you were coming, Lara!”

“Nonsense.” She said, but everything made sense. Kurtis had been calling her to him... but why from so far away, why now in this bad situation? Lara stood up. “I need to see him immediately.”

“He's not here,” sighed Selma. That was another surprise for her. Before she could open her mouth, the Turkish girl continued: “He was no longer in danger of dying, but still very weak. His wound was horrible…and it hadn't healed completely. At night he suffered from fevers and delirium. In his pain, he was calling out for you…screaming your name.” Lara almost laughed at the dreamy expression on Selma’s face. “How romantic, don’t you think?” She sighed.

The British explorer arched an eyebrow in derision. “You're mistaken, Selma, if you think there’s something between us.”

“Oh.” She said, looking disappointed. “So finally, he left yesterday. He wrote a note thanking me for my attentions, which I immediately destroyed. I have the impression both of you are in danger.”

_You’re the one who's in danger_ , thought Lara, then she said: “Very clever of you. Do you know where he went?”

“He wrote that you would know where to find him.” A smile crossed Selma’s face, “He really trusts you, despite being a mere stranger.”

“Circumstance of necessity,” she said. And then she had an idea. “Selma, you're the director of the Cappadocia excavation, aren’t you? Please, let me enter it.”

“Of course.” Selma said. “You don't even need a pass. It’s abandoned since National Geographic withdrew their subsidy from me. And all for the Cabal's sake!”

Lara stood. There was no time to lose. Touching Selma’s shoulder, she said: “You must leave Turkey as soon as you can. The Cabal are after me, and so far they've killed nearly everyone who’s helped me.”

She nodded, frightened. “I understand, thank you. And you can be sure that I'll support you if you run into further trouble because of Von Croy’s murder.”

Hours later, when Gunderson and his men broke into the apartment, Selma Al-Jazeera was thousands of miles away. Safe and sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by Kaworu.


	3. Manticores

 

Cappadocia was a semi-arid region noted for its exceptionally beautiful rock formations. Lara didn't find a single soul in the wilderness - fortunately, she thought - and it took her little time to slip into the excavation and crawl through the tunnel. At the end lay the discovery.

The necropolis was structured in multiple continuous circular chambers, each chamber consisting of twenty bulbous stone niches housing a Nephilim. Selma’s team had undergone a careful drilling in order to see inside the "sarcophagus". Nothing like the bungling activities of the likes of Carter and Schliemann; archaeology was now more advanced. Lara, taking care to avoid touching them, looked into the holes and watched those creatures, lying in their final resting place.

The _Nephili_ were tall and rather lanky, and their remains skeletons covered with strips of skin. Dead to be sure, and likely killed after being placed there. Lara figured it out while seeing an etched mark found in some skulls: A Lion's face surrounded by the three Periapt Shards; the insignia of their ancestral enemy, the Lux Veritatis. After the warrior monks discovered the place, the _Nephili_ , temporarily lethargic, had embraced their eternal rest. The only one who escaped was the Sleeper, whose former location was the only empty hole... Lara wondered how he managed to elude the Lux Veritatis.

When she reached the last chamber, the tunnel suddenly went down. Lara lit a flare, and after a few steps, she saw a signboard: _Danger. Unstable ground_. But it was too late. As she was trying to move back, the old, cracked floor disappeared from under her feet. With a scream that echoed through the darkness, she began to fall into the void, cursing her stupidity. But before she fell to far a strong arm came out of nowhere and grabbed her tightly.

Then she heard a familiar voice: “Always getting into trouble, aren’t we, Miss Croft?” Lara, hanging over the abyss and suspended only by the arm, looked up. It was Kurtis.

 

* * *

 

Joachim Karel sat quietly on the couch where, only hours earlier, Lara and Selma had been talking. He looked around the Turkish archaeologist’s tiny apartment, wishing he could have caught her. It had been a while since he'd killed somebody, and he felt frustrated… since this woman knew too much and had managed to escape alive.

Suddenly, the phone rang. Karel looked with disgust at that mechanical device that humans were so proud of, but begrudgingly admitted they turned out to be more helpful than not on many occasions.

He walked slowly on purpose towards the phone. If the call was not important, it would stop ringing soon. However, the sound persisted. That was the signal. He picked up the phone.

“ _Meister_.” Answered Gunderson’s voice. “We've found them. Both of them. In Cappadocia’s necropolis.”

The necropolis...his former home. The place he took the only living Nephilim save for himself, and escaped to Prague; laying all his hope in it…and all for nothing. “Excellent.” Said the Nephilim.

“What must we do?”

“Take them. Both of them. I want them alive.”

Gunderson sounded doubtful. “ _Meister_ , the woman will be trouble...”

“I said I want _both_ of them. And don't hurt them either… or you’ll be wishing I was as merciful as Eckhardt.”

“Yes, _Meister_.”

He hung up. Karel, satisfied, left the apartment. His plans had been ruined by Lara Croft and her unexpected intelligence; she’d been easy to manipulate...but turned out to be impossible to defeat. This time nothing would fail...he had everything going for him.

What Gunderson was ignorant of - in fact, only Boaz, Eckhardt, and Karel had known of it - was that the Sleeper had been a female specimen. She was meant to give birth to a new _Nephili_ breed; and yes, by the traditional way, that method that humans went crazy for. Her destruction had wiped the chance of creating a pure race. Now he had to find a human woman...one worthy of giving birth to a second _Nephili_ generation. In fact, Karel had already chosen her. He smiled.

“And when I'm done with you,” he whispered, “you’ll see what I did to your mentor was a blessing in comparison…”

As for the man, Karel was neither worried nor scared of his Golden Seal. It would be a great pleasure to strangle the last Lux Veritatis to death with his bare hands.

It was said that _Nephili_ were a cruel race. Well…this was only the beginning.

 

* * *

 

Lara pulled herself up and climbed, helped by Kurtis.

“You owe me an explanation.” She gasped.

“And a Painting.”

She laughed. “Forget about the Painting, it's hopeless.” She sat on the floor and lit another flare. Maybe it was a trick of the green light mixed with the shadows, but Kurtis really did look ill, if his pale face was anything to go by.

“Why did you come here?”

“Actually, I fled. I assumed you were being chased by Gunderson, so if I stayed in Istanbul we would've been caught by his men.”

Then Lara looked at his hand and saw the golden, square-shaped ring with the engraved map, and said: “What do you know about all this?”

“Not much.” He said after sitting next to her. “Last thing I recall was that bitch's head rolling on the floor, after being skewered like a Turkish kebab. I was an idiot. One should _not_ underestimate his enemies.” His voice sounded bitter and frustrated. “Then when I woke up, I was in some Turkish woman's house; she started screaming her head off when she saw me jump out of bed. She told me everything she knew, and then I hoped you'd received my call and come soon.”

“But you were unconscious.” Lara said. “How could you call me?”

“With that.” He said, pointing at the Chirugai, which was tied to Lara’s belt. “May I have it back?”

She gave it to him. Kurtis lovingly caressed the weapon before affixing it to his belt again. Seeing Lara's suspicious look, he said: “I won’t ask you to believe me, and I don’t expect you to understand how I did it. I contacted you; let’s leave it at that. Call it a miracle, if you want. There’s also the ‘miracle’ of me being alive.”

“The people who helped you...”

“I have no idea who they were. After Eckhardt killed my father, I'm the last one.” In fact, Kurtis had never told her what he was. She had figured it out watching the strange display of his mental powers and the information he had of his ancestral enemy. And he was aware she knew it. “Now tell me everything.” Kurtis said, very seriously. “What I told you is all I know.”

And Lara told him. Although he was frowning, she saw admiration in his eyes when she told him how she'd killed Eckhardt. She told him about Gunderson's visit, the Golden Seal’s story, everything she'd discovered recently.

When she finished, Kurtis sighed. “So this ring on my finger is called _the Golden Seal_ and can decide which of us wins and which of us dies?”

Lara gasped. “Didn’t you know that?”

“Well, no.” He said. “All I know is that my father gave me this ring when I was sixteen. He never told me about its purpose, even though he was so proud of being a Lux Veritatis.”

A sudden noise made them jump. They heard hurried footsteps above on the surface of the necropolis, some orders shouted aloud, and the clicking and sliding of metal-on-metal as machine guns were readied...

“Dammit.” Lara cursed, “Gunderson!”

To her surprise, Kurtis kept calm. “It's about time. I was waiting for them.”

“Oh, really? Are we going to start negotiating with them?”

“No.” He said with a smirk, while loading his Boran X. “We’re gonna set a trap.”

 

* * *

 

Gunderson delivered some quick instructions to his men. “Spread out by the cameras. You have enough lighting. And remember, don't hurt them.”

“What if they fire?” Said one of them.

Gunderson growled. That was the problem. That pair was indomitable, especially the woman, who was a real fucking bitch. And he knew enough about Kurtis to be sure he wouldn’t surrender easily.

“Sir?”

“Don't give them the chance.”

 

* * *

 

Kurtis jumped to his feet and ran to one corner of the hallway. “Help me with this.”

Lara saw he was tugging at something heavy... “A can of gasoline?”

“Yup.”

Then she understood. “You'll make a mess.”

“Just what you like, don’tcha, Miss Croft?” He threw the can and began to spread gasoline on the floor. Under normal conditions, the sand would have absorbed the gasoline - but the ground had been swept and polished by archaeologists, leaving a bare, uneven rock - and as a result some puddles formed. “We'll have to run,” said Kurtis, “and let's hope they follow us.”

“What are you up to?”

“Trust me now.” He jumped over the hole that Lara had almost fell down, which luckily was not very wide. Lara followed him, hoping the soil wouldn’t sink again. It didn't.

On the other side Kurtis pulled out a tiny explosive device with a detonator and tied it against the hole's edge. He activated it and then they both started to run.

“Where are we supposed to go?” She gasped as they ran along the dark tunnel.

“There's another exit.” He said, handing her a map taken from Selma’s apartment. “We'll exit on the other side and try to catch them at the back of this tunnel.”

The plan was clear... “How long before we leave?”

“A couple of hours.”

Suddenly, they heard a loud boom and the sound of crumbling earth.

“Now the hole's a little wider...it’s difficult, but not impossible to follow us.” Lara said. “But the gasoline...”

“With that we'll cut off their way back. They won’t be able to turn back.”

“Then they will just come where we are!”

Before Kurtis could answer, a shout of rage was heard in the distance: _“_ _That fucking bitch!”_

Lara frowned. “To whom is he referring?”

“Hmm,” Kurtis smirked, “I certainly don’t think _that_ ’s addressed to _me_.”

“Well, not me, either. After all, _I’m_ not the one to blame.”

 

* * *

 

“That damn slut used a bomb and now there's a gap!”

Some mercenaries were looking at the hole in the centre of the tunnel. Gunderson frowned. Bad business. And there was spilled gasoline. He quickly scanned for any outbreak of fire, but there was nothing. It seemed the can was tipped over by accident...

“What are you doing?” He shouted. “You know how to jump a damn hole, don’t you?”

The dumbasses reacted and began to prepare the grappling hooks to access the other side. Gunderson turned towards his five favourite mercenaries and said to them: “You'll stay here with me and stand guard. If I really believed this container was tipped over by accident, I would be an idiot.”

 

* * *

 

They had spent some time running when Kurtis suddenly stopped and seemed unable to take a step further. He clutched his stomach and doubled over.

“You okay?” Lara asked, still ready to go on.

Kurtis shook his head. The wound in his belly was burning like fire. “It’s nothing.” He said.

“You’re very bad at lying.” Lara said, and went towards him.

Suddenly, his eyes fixed on something behind Lara. She turned and immediately drew her weapons.

There were a pair of orange eyes glowing in the dark. Then another pair. And another and another. And suddenly they heard a strange sound, like crackles and pops, that reminded Lara of a dolphin squeaking. _Dolphins in a desert cave?_

Kurtis seemed to recognize the creatures. He straightened up, tense. “No matter what you see,” he said, “don't panic.”

“Panic?” Lara snorted. “I won’t pan…” Her voice trailed off into silence when she saw the first creature emerge from the darkness. She gasped. Lara had seen many horrible things in her eventful life. But _that_ thing...!

It was a four-legged creature which reminded her of a lion, but its tail was an appendage ending in a sharp stinger. The neck was long and wavy...and the head was a humans’. The face was a mirror image of Lara’s’, but with a ghastly twist: instead of her sensual lips, it had an extended jaw full of long, sharp, fang-like teeth that clacked together when opening and closing.

Lara stepped back, and was surprised to see that she was shaking like a leaf. “It’s _me_!” she gasped again.

“No!” Said Kurtis, who was still behind her, “they only take your likeness to terrify you. Just ignore their face!”

But that wasn't easy at all. Kurtis shuddered when the second creature came out of the darkness: it had his own face disfigured by that grotesque sharp-toothed jaw.

“What _the hell_ are they?” Lara said, loading her guns.

“Manticores. Stay away from the stinger, it’s poisonous.”

She remembered having read that name in Father Dunstan’s Bestiary when she was a teenager.

Suddenly the first manticore attacked, leaping towards her. Lara fired and was met with the unsettling vision of her own head exploding...but then the head completely regenerated.

“Guns are useless on them!” Kurtis shouted, throwing the Chirugai towards one of them. “You must behead them!”

“Dammit.” Lara hissed, and took the knife she had in her boot.

Kurtis' incredible weapon spun in the air, lighting up the darkness with orange flashes just like the manticore's eyes, and beheaded one of them.

Lara smashed a kick in the face of another one, and taking advantage of the beast's disorientation, slit its throat. Damn, now she was covered in blood. She hated that…

“Lara!” Kurtis yelled as he returned the Chirugai back to himself, “behind you!”

She turned too late. A Kurtis-faced manticore threw her to the floor. Lara plunged her knife into its throat, but then felt a burning pain in her thigh, and saw the manticore’s stinger had cut open a slit in her skin. She pushed its corpse away and stood up, but then everything began to spin before her eyes. Stunned and feeling dizzy, she leaned against the wall; and without any more strength, slid to the floor.

_The poison_ , she remembered.

The last thing she saw was Kurtis kicking a manticore away from her. Then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by Adayka.


	4. Selma’s Diary

 

When Lara woke up, her head hammered and her eyes were cloudy. She tried to sit up, but was too dizzy and fell back down onto something soft and pillow-like.  
“Better you don’t move.” She heard Kurtis’ voice.  
He was squatted in the corner of a tunnel. He'd lit a small bonfire and was cooking something that didn’t smell very good. She saw four shapes in the corner, resembling bodies. “You’re not cooking what I think you are, are you?” Lara whispered, putting her hands over her eyes.  
“Manticore meat.” Kurtis confirmed. “The only antidote for its own poison.” He approached and offered her a piece of grey flesh. Lara felt sick. “I’m _not_ eating that.” She said, stubborn. “I feel better now. I’m not going to die.”  
“Maybe.” He said. “But you'll be blind in a couple of hours.”  
Lara growled and put the meat into her mouth. Fortunately, despite its horrible appearance, manticore meat tasted like chicken.  
She fell asleep immediately after.

 

* * *

  
Kurtis got up and looked around. The incident with the manticores could disrupt his plan, but not if he acted quickly. After killing the last manticore - made easy due to the Chirugai's great accuracy - he'd placed Lara in a secluded corner of the tunnel. However, the manticores’ bloodstains, the bonfire remnants, and the corpses would betray them if Gunderson’s men didn’t discover them before that.  
Kurtis’ mother, Marie Cornel, was a descendant of the Navajo Native American tribe. Kurtis had spent most of his life with her, and Marie, who was a strong woman like Lara, had taught her son the trade secrets of their people: how to track someone without being detected, to move with secrecy and discretion, and how to erase all signs of having been somewhere. That's how Kurtis was able to move about unnoticed anywhere; he never took part in an event unless necessary and he always remained in the shadows. So he'd been able to take advantage of working among Gunderson’s men.  
He quickly pushed the manticores’ corpses out and put them in the centre of the tunnel, near a junction. He carefully picked up the bloody dirt and spread it over the corpses. Then he buried the bonfire’s remains and flattened the dirt, so it looked as if no one had been there. If the plan succeeded, Gunderson’s men would take the right hand path, where there were signs of battle. However, according to Selma’s map, the path that led to the exit was on the left.  
Satisfied, Kurtis came back and sat down next to Lara, put out the flare and waited.

 

* * *

  
“Hey!” Shouted one of them. “Here!”  
“What _the hell_ is that?”  
The mercenaries were looking, shocked, at the beheaded and skinned manticores.  
“They’re demons!” He shouted again. “I’m leaving!”  
“Fuck that!” The other shouted. “You stay here like the others!”  
The dead manticores were lying at the right hand tunnel's entrance. There was a trail of blood starting from their bodies that disappeared into the dark.  
“They must have fought those creepy things and then gone straight ahead.”  
But another mercenary hesitated while looking at the left hand tunnel. “What if it's a trick? Better to divide us.”  
“The boss told us not to do that. The fewer we are, the more dangerous it is.”  
“But it’s only two of them!”  
_“Two?_ The woman alone is worth at least four! Look what they've done with those monsters!”  
Finally they decided to take the right hand path. Kurtis smiled, hidden in the dark. _No problem._

 

* * *

  
Gunderson went back to the excavation’s entrance to catch his breath. His men were wearing gas masks, but he was already half-suffocated by the damn petrol.  
Then he saw Kurtis standing in front of him. He immediately aimed his gun at him while noticing at the same time he wasn't trying to defend himself.  
“Are you looking for _this_ , Gunderson?” He said with a mocking smile and stretched a hand towards him. The Golden Seal rested on his risen middle finger, and the mercenary wasn't sure which meaning Kurtis was referring to.  
“Well, I see you finally dare to face me, Trent.”  
“Selling yourself to the highest bidder as usual, shitface? Who are you working for this time? Karel, isn't it?”  
“I have a life-mission, but your only purpose is to die at my _Meister's_ hand.” Suddenly, he heard a sound behind him, and when he turned he saw Lara pointing her gun at his face. _What the hell…?_  
“Don’t move.” Said Lara. “Don’t shout, don’t breathe. If you do anything, by the time your men arrive you'll be dead.”  
It had been a trick. Kurtis had distracted him so she could creep up from behind.  
“You can't win.” Said Gunderson. “The Nephilim has planned everything for you, and he'll find you wherever you hide.”  
“Who said we’re hiding?” Lara asked.  
Gunderson smiled. “When you know what he’s going to do with you, _darling_ , you'll want to hide for the rest of your life.”  
Lara frowned. What on earth had any of this to do with her?  
“Cut the crap.” Kurtis said, taking out his weapon. “Get into the tunnel.”  
Gunderson dropped his weapon, and forced at gunpoint by Lara, headed toward the tunnel, passing the big pool of gasoline. His men couldn’t help him now, and his five most trusted ones were in one of the chambers; it was too risky to call them.  
_I’m without a doubt surrounded by idiots_ , he thought.  
“Go on, Lara,” Kurtis suggested.  
She lit a flare with an evil smile.  
“You filthy whore!” Gunderson yelled.  
Lara dropped the flare into the pool and the petrol set on fire immediately. The mercenary ran away and disappeared into the dark.  
“Nice.” Said Kurtis, putting away his weapon.  
Lara had to agree: the fire would block the entrance for a while, forcing Gunderson and his men to retreat. As for the rest of the mercenaries, they probably would be lost in secondary tunnels, and the exit was blocked by another explosion.  
“We should have killed him.” Lara said as they walked to where Kurtis somehow managed to stash his bike without it being noticed.  
“Kill Gunderson?” He said. “I guess so… but I still have some level of respect for him. He was at one point my boss and something like a friend, even if it were a long time ago. If I have to kill him, I won’t do it that way.”  
Lara shook her head. Damn men and their ridiculous sense of honour. “You know what I don't like about your plan?” She said. “Since the beginning I’ve constantly been insulted, and it’s all been planned by you.”  
Kurtis laughed. It was the first time she heard him do so… and it changed his face completely, Lara thought. “I’m sorry. I promise to compensate you for every offense.”  
“Well,” she sighed, “as emperor Caligula said: _Let them hate me, so long as they fear me.”_  
They left the excavation and went back to Istanbul. Lara’s plan was to return to Selma’s apartment in order to find more information about the Seal. But they were ignorant of the fact that their every movement was being watched by Karel, who had allowed them to gain the upper hand over him up until then. The strategy of one who knows he's going to win.

 

* * *

 

Kurtis parked the motorbike in front of Selma’s apartment after a tiring journey from Cappadocia. Lara went towards the door, but she stopped short of entering.  
“What’s up?” He said.  
She put a finger on her lips and pointed to the door. It was ajar. The two of them went on either side of the door and drew their weapons…  
“One, two, three!!” Lara opened the door with a kick and they entered aiming with their weapons to each side.  
Selma’s apartment was a mess: it was hard to explain how such a small space held so many things. There was nobody there… but the last visitor had left a message for them. On the wall there was a text written with a dark substance, made of symbols like those in Von Croy and Vasiley’s apartments: The Nephilim writing.

“It’s blood again.” Lara said, approaching the wall. There was no body, no police intervention, as if Karel had used his own blood.  
Kurtis was studying the symbols, and Lara heard him whispering in a strange language. “Do you understand the writing?”  
“My father taught me the enemy’s language.” He answered. _“’And Yahweh said: My Spirit shall not abide in man forever, for he is flesh.’"_

Lara exclaimed: “That’s a Genesis’ verse, the same one that mentions the _Nephili!_ He seems to be very proud of being eternal while we’re only simple mortals.”

She started searching among the shelves and papers in Selma’s study to find information about the Seal or any sort of clue. At the moment, they were stuck. “Go and have a rest,” she said, “I can handle this.”

Kurtis certainly didn’t know how he could stay on his feet. “Tell me if you find anything.” He said.

He went to the bathroom and had a quick shower and shave, maintaining his trademark goatee. When he removed the dirty bandages from his torso, he examined the awful wound there. He touched the stitches. Boaz’s sting had gone through his back and came out near the centre of his belly while managing to completely bypass any major organs and the spine. If he'd believed in miracles, _that_ would've been a real one.  
For a moment he stopped thinking about himself and remembered the rest of Karel’s message, worried. He hadn’t told Lara about it, since he knew she was very clever and probably would've figured out what he was starting to suspect.  
_‘Arise, come, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me.’_  
It was a verse from the Song of Solomon. It could sound very romantic under the right circumstances, but said by that demon those words had a cruel irony. And he also recalled Gunderson’s words: _When you know what he’s going to do with you, darling, you'll want to hide for the rest of your life._  
He definitely wasn't telling Lara about it. It wasn’t worth worrying her. They had plenty of other things to worry about.

 

* * *

 

Lara spent all night surrounded by papers. She looked over all the study of the young archaeologist, and “borrowed” what she found interesting. She read and read until her eyes strained, but she didn’t find very much. Maybe Karel had destroyed the information, or maybe it didn’t exist in the first place.  
That was until she found Selma’s diary. The little notebook was full of anger and pain because of tragic events that happened in the girl’s life the last few months, before she had fled. But then she discovered something interesting:  
  
_We've found a Hebrew inscription on one of the necropolis’ walls. The inscription mentioned something known as the Golden Seal. According to what we've translated (the inscription was seriously damaged) it’s an object which holds a clue. Who discovers that clue - which is called “the True Option” - shall have the choice to choose between Good and Evil, between the triumph of either the Light of Truth or the Fallen Angel. The inscription also mentioned an Amazon, but I couldn't understand this part. Unfortunately, we can’t find out much more. The inscription contained a map which was supposed to show the place where the clue is, but those Cabal’s members attacked my workers and destroyed the inscription._  
  
Lara tore the page out and called Kurtis, who was getting up after having a long rest. She showed him the paper and said: “ _Light of Truth_ alludes to Lux Veritatis. The _Fallen Ange_ _l_ is Karel. All this confirms what Gunderson told me when he broke into my house.”  
“But we don’t have the clue or the map…” Kurtis said, but suddenly he stopped talking.  
“What is it?”  
Kurtis took the Seal off his finger and gave it to Lara. She took it and examined it carefully. There was an engraving on the ring. It had a rounded shape, but it was easy to distinguish a map from it.  
“I can’t believe our luck,” Lara said, “but there’s still something that bugs me. If Karel hadn’t wanted us to discover the map, he would've turned over Heaven and Earth to steal the Seal from us.”  
“Why bother?” Kurtis said. “He has the advantage over us. He already knows this, and now he wants us to follow his plan.”  
“Does that mean the Seal hasn’t any value by itself? That it’s only good for telling us the location and nothing more?” That made sense. Lara turned towards the map. There was a mountainous place, but there were no names engraved on it.  
“Those are the Carpathians, or at least that was what my father told me.” Kurtis pointed. “I’ve always asked myself about that star on the left corner, it reminds me of an X-mark on a treasure map or something.”  
Lara gave him back the Seal and tried to remember something about that place. She kicked herself when it suddenly came to her: “Of course! Count Dracula!”  
“What?”  
“The Carpathians go across Romania, the ancient Transylvania! Count Dracula’s land!”  
“That’s right! And according to some sources, Dracula was actually a Nephilim.” Kurtis laughed. “Sounds good to me.”  
To prove her words, Lara brought out an atlas from the shelves to study the place. Things became clearer when they discovered the little star was exactly on the ancient county.  
“So the clue is at Dracula’s castle,” Kurtis said. “And who says there’s never any truth to legends?”  
“Legends are _never_ _just_ legends.” Lara said, then she smiled. “Next destination: Romania!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by Adayka.


	5. Karolis

Romania had plenty of castles, but only one was considered to be Dracula’s home. It was Bran’s castle, in the city of Brasov, near where the Carpathians and Transylvanian Alps met.  
Lara and Kurtis had discussed how to get there. A journey across the continent was immediately rejected: it would've taken too long to cross Bulgaria and better to avoid the police if somebody recognized Lara. By plane there were scales and they didn’t trust the airline’s security, so finally they decided to go by ship, which took them from Istanbul to Constanța, from where they would travel to Bucharest before making their way to the Alps.  
In order to go unnoticed, they dressed as a pair of tourist guides working at the Balkans. While they were walking along the deck, Lara was explaining to her partner: “The so-called Count Dracula is, in fact, just a myth. The writer Bram Stoker was inspired by a real, historic person: The Transylvanian prince Vlad III Tepes, also known as Vlad the Impaler for executing his enemies in this manner. Another name he’s earned is Vlad _Drakul_ , ‘the Devil’.”  
“And that turned into Dracula.” Kurtis said.  
“Exactly. He’s been known to drink human blood, to enjoy watching torture and executions as if they were a spectacle, and to even invite his enemies to dinner and then afterwards kill them.”  
“Sounds like a perfect Nephilim.”  
At night, Lara locked herself in her cabin with all the papers she had brought from Selma's apartment and spent the whole night sketching maps and diagrams, to help herself clarify the data. Her friends used to say it was the boring side of her lifestyle, but she enjoyed wracking her brain as much as shooting or jumping over booby traps.  
“This doesn’t make sense.” Lara whispered to the deaf pile of papers. “What on earth does an Amazon have to do with all this?” She took another page and started writing all she knew about this legendary figure. 

Suddenly, she heard a cracking sound. She got up and retrieved her shotgun from under her pillow. She approached the bathroom -where the noise had come from- and kicked the door open. But she only saw her face in the mirror. “I'm paranoid.” She said. “I hear noises everywhere.” She was about to go back when, suddenly, she looked in the mirror again.  
There was somebody behind her. She screamed and turned, but then she felt an Uzi’s barrel at her temple. “Silence!” She heard a male voice, speaking in Greek. “Drop your weapon. Your time is up.”

 

* * *

 

Kurtis was at his cabin sharpening the Chirugai’s razors when he heard the gunfire. The short burst of a submachine gun. And after that…only silence. The noise had come of Lara’s cabin, and he doubted she would shoot without a reason.

He jumped to his door and opened it in a pull, and after having run over a poor steward, he started banging on her door.  “ Lara! What’s up? Lara!!”

Silence.

People were coming out of their cabins, attracted by the fuss. Without paying the others any mind, Kurtis rushed toward the door and knocked it down. 

He was very lucky, since as he fell down he also avoided the bullets that were aimed directly where his head had been. He stood and rushed the man and threw him to the floor, wrenching the arm back that held the Uzi. The gunman screamed in pain when his arm broke with a cracking sound.

“Call the ship’s police!” Screamed a lady who was watching the scene.

Kurtis quickly dropped the magazine from the well into his hand and threw it into the gangway, racked the slide to eject the last round and dropped the weapon to the floor.  “You won’t be needing that anymore, asshole!”

The man struggled against him and landed a punch on Kurtis’ face. When he reeled back from the blow the man got up and ran away through the gangway.

Lara was lying on the floor, motionless.

Kurtis took three seconds to make a decision. He chased after the man even though his stitched wound was hurting so much, but the other man was in pain too, with a broken arm that dangled at his side and bounced this way and that as he ran. He finally caught him at the deck, and cornered him against the rail.

“Don't move!” He shouted, “What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s her!” The Greek screamed, hysterical. “She’s our doom! She's destined to give birth to a demons’ race!”

“If you killed her, you son of a bitch,” Kurtis shouted, targeting him with the Boran, “I swear you'll remember me for the rest of your life!”

The Greek didn’t answer. He quickly took a knife from somewhere in his coat, and, before Kurtis could stop him, stabbed himself in the heart. His body fell back over the rail, and splashed into the Black Sea.

 

* * *

 

“Miss! Miss! Are you ok?”

Lara awoke, helped by the waiter. By sidestepping the Uzi's bullet spray – though she still got grazed by one in the arm - she'd collided with a corner and knocked herself unconscious for a short while.

“I'm fine, it's nothing.” She said.

The waiter was pale and trembling. His life had never been so exciting, and the sight of a woman with a blood dripping down her arm was more than he could stand.

“What happened here?” Said the captain entering the cabin, surrounded by policemen.

“A murder attempt.” Lara said, very calm. “May I have a doctor?”

_Wow_ , thought the captain, _this woman’s one hell of an ice queen._ “Call a doctor.” He said to the guards, “Where's ...?”

“My partner chased after him,” she answered.

Kurtis arrived at that moment, walking hastily. Although he was a man who didn't show his emotions easily, Lara noticed the relief on his face when he saw her alive.  “ He committed suicide.” He exclaimed. “The crazy bastard stabbed himself!”

 

* * *

 

Some hours later, everything was solved. Most of the passengers could testify that the alleged terrorist had attacked Lara, fled and finally killed himself. Now the rest was in the captain’s hands.

Lara, now with a bandaged arm, was still among her papers as if nothing had happened. Kurtis sat nearby and watched her. After a while, she looked up and smiled at him.

“No need to watch me all night like a bodyguard.” She said. “The guy's dead and I can take care of myself.”

_I can tell_ , thought Kurtis.  “I couldn’t sleep now even if I was knocked out .” He said.

At that moment, the phone rang. Lara picked it up and instantly heard an older male voice:  “ Are you okay, miss Croft?”

Lara nodded to Kurtis and he came nearby.  “ Who am I talking to?”

“Just calling to apologize for the attack. Karolis was one of us, but he went astray and decided to take matters into his own hands. I’m really sorry.”

“Who the hell are you?” Kurtis said, taking the handset from Lara.

“We're the ones who brought you to the hospital, Mr. Trent. The same people who bribed the doctors to keep fighting for your life, which they had already decided to let go. The ones who gave their blood to you, for you'd almost bled to death. That’s why I’m so sorry: it has been one of us who attacked you. But this won’t happen again.”

Kurtis, dismayed, could only say:  “ But why? Why did you do that for me?”

“Because we're on the same side, Mr. Trent.”

And the old man hung up. Lara and Kurtis remained in silence a few moments, looking at the phone, wondering what on earth was going on.

 

* * *

 

At dawn, the ship arrived at  Constanța . Lara and Kurtis said farewell to the passengers - in a single day they had become the most famous couple on the ship, which was annoying for the both of them - and left the harbour on Kurtis’ motorbike.

“We need to get to Bucharest as soon as possible.” Lara recalled. “And there we'll take the road to Brasov.”

_I don't feel like climbing mountains_ , Kurtis thought, but he didn’t complain. It wasn't his style.  “ Have you found anything out about the Amazon?” He asked instead.

“Nothing yet. What does a warrior woman from Greek mythology have to do with a race of hybrids from Hebrew mythology? They're like day and night. But I’m not giving up; I have to find a connection.”

“You won't like the answer.”

“What?”

Kurtis stopped the motorbike and turned to look at directly at her.  “ I didn't want to tell you until I had some proof, but after what happened last night, it doesn't make sense to keep it from you anymore.”

“Keep _what_ from me _?”_

“Who the Amazon is.”

 

* * *

 

Gunderson entered the building. He wished the earth would open up and swallow him when he saw Karel waiting in the hall, his face an unreadable mask.

“ _Meister_.”

“Your work at Cappadocia was _magnificent.”_ Karel said sarcastically. “A pair of idiots left you and your men trapped in an excavation. How many were you? Fifteen? Twenty?”

“Thirty, _Meister_. ”

“Thirty.” The Nephilim said, rolling his eyes. “Maybe next time I’ll hire a fire brigade, at least they're _supposed_ to extinguish a fire.”

“ _Meister_ ,” Gunderson protested, “we were trapped. We would've come quickly if we hadn’t been attacked by a herd of beasts!”

“I sent those beasts myself _,”_ Karel said, “to punish your ineptitude.”

Gunderson felt shocked.  _This monster is a sadist. He wants to kill us all_ .  “ Excuse me, but I can’t understand our role in this story.”

“You're just a pawn,” Karel said, “you’ll be the bait to hinder the Lux Veritatis and the woman as long as I need until I’ve completed my plan.”

_How nice_ , thought Gunderson,  _I love it_ .  “ What should I do now?”

“Chase them. Hinder them. You've still enough men to serve my purpose. Remember, I do _not_ want you to hurt them, especially the woman. I understand that a Greek terrorist attacked her recently. Your mission is to keep that from happening from now on.”

_What? Protect that bitch?_ “ You mean to chase them and at the same time, to protect them,  _Meister_ ?”

“It will be your life's grand purpose, Gunderson. You must hinder them until they won't be sure who their enemies and who their allies are. And when we get them separated...I'll do the rest myself.”

 

* * *

 

In a pub in the outskirts of Bucharest, Lara and Kurtis were sitting in the darkest corner, arguing quietly and looking askance at who came too close to their table. It was unlikely the locals understood them, as they were talking in French. English was too widespread, so anyone who wanted to remain unnoticed needed to avoid it in a capital city.

“I can't believe I didn’t notice before!” Said Lara, “I’m losing my instinct. The Amazon was a _metaphor..._ ”

During all her life, the spiteful mass media had compared her to a brave Amazon. And she still remembered Eckhardt’s words in the Strahov, where he'd been waiting for her. ‘ _Congratulations, miss Croft, you are positively Amazonian._ _That Vault has defeated us for months’._

“The Nephilim are fond of metaphors and prophecies,” said Kurtis, “which would be a weak point if they hadn’t that damn ability to match it up with their plotting. He probably had chosen you a long time ago. Maybe even before he murdered your mentor.”

Lara couldn't bear being the centrepiece of Karel’s plan. Kurtis had also revealed her an ancient Cabal prophecy:  _And the Amazon will bring the Nephilim defeat, but her fate is to give birth to the race she will attempt to destroy in vain._

So encouraging.

“He's been using me since the beginning.” She said, banging on the table with her fist. Some patrons turned to look at her, but she ignored them. “I'm _sick_ of him! It's over now. I can’t believe Karel's so arrogant to think he can lay a finger on me. And all that because of a stupid prophecy!”

“You _can’t_ underestimate him, Lara.” Kurtis noted. “I haven’t faced him yet, but if he’s pure Nephilim as you said, then I can say with certainty Eckhardt was _nothing_ compared to him.”

She stood, visibly upset. Every step they took was being controlled by Karel and served his intentions, but they had no choice.  “ We need to go now. We've no time to lose. I'll ask the barman the quickest way out to the north.”

Kurtis went out of the bar and sat on his motorbike, searched in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The bar’s front door was propped open, so he saw and heard exactly what happened next.

Lara came up to ask the barman. While he was giving her directions, a rather fat middle-aged man passed behind her and dropped some Romanian words that made everyone in the bar burst into laughter. Kurtis didn't understand Romanian, but judging from Lara’s facial expression, it was an  _intolerable_ obscenity. To make things worse, the man had the nerve to follow his words with a sharp slap on the ass.

On an easy day, Lara wouldn't have reacted like that. But that day was  _not_ an easy day.

The barman would never forget how the tall, athletic woman punched the man with such force he flew back against the slot machine. The impact was brutal enough to silence the laughter in the room at once. The guy remained sprawled on the floor, unable to move.

The cigarette fell out of Kurtis’ open mouth.

Lara took a deep breath, swept the hair away from her face and, after sweetly smiling to the customers, left the bar with the greatest of elegance.

“What did he say?” Kurtis asked later, when he finally recovered himself from the shock.

“That's none of _your_ bloody business, Mr. Trent.” She answered, still maintaining her charming smile. “And you should know I remember _perfectly_ _well_ what happened at the Louvre: consider yourself very, _very_ lucky.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by Scheroff and comic of the last part by the amazing Hydraballista.


	6. The Romanian Professor

Despite what one might expect, Bran’s castle didn't look like a typical dark fortress a Nephilim or Count Dracula would hide in; instead it was an elegant summer palace, with white walls and red roofs. A unique monument that stood proudly on a rocky cliff, overlooking a view of Brasov which was considered the most beautiful city in Romania.

Professor Vladimir Ivanoff had spent so many years studying Bran and had become an expert on the subject. He felt attached to the castle to the point of considering tourists as invaders that threatened the royal monument's survival. In his concern he spent whole days there, instructing, counselling, and chiding guides and tourists, so much so that locals said the similarities between the Transylvanian count and the professor went beyond just the name.

That day a couple of tourists caught his attention: a man and a woman, foreigners no doubt. The woman, dressed in shorts and tank top, was a real beauty. Having a bandaged arm, she was holding the arm of a dangerous looking guy: he wore an expression on his face that was capable of souring fresh milk. She, however, acted pleasantly and charmingly talked to him.

 _I’ll follow these two_ , decided Ivanoff, and walked up behind them. “Excuse me,” he said, “do you need a guide to the castle?”

The man stared at him, inexpressive, but the woman smiled. “It would be nice to find an expert on the subject,” she said, shaking his hand.

“You found it. I'm Professor Vladimir Ivanoff,” he replied. “It’s a pleasure, Miss…?”

“Croft,” Lara said.

“Lara Croft?”

“One and the same.”

Professor Ivanoff panicked. It was known that Lara Croft did not leave a stone unturned. Moreover, she hadn't been building a good reputation lately... “Nice to meet you in person,” he continued. “If you’d like to follow me I’ll lead you through the castle's rooms.”

“My pleasure,” Lara smiled.

The professor then looked at the man. “I don't remember your name, sir.”

“That's because I didn't tell you,” he replied dryly.

Lara elbowed him discretely. “Excuse my colleague,” she said. “We had an accident a couple of days ago and he's a bit uptight.”

 _A bit uptight? He almost bit me_ , thought Ivanoff, and proceeded to guide them across the monument.

 

* * *

 

“ _What_ are you doing?” Lara whispered to him as they followed the professor.

“The guy's annoying,” Kurtis growled. “He’ll be on our ass all day. Let’s get rid of him.”

“Yeah, just what I need: another corpse!”

“I don't mean kill him! Just a pistol-whip to the head...”

“Right now he could be useful. We'll see...”

The professor explained the fortress had been remodelled between 1920 and 1930 to become a royal residence. The luxurious rooms were connected by narrow staircases. There were elegant furnishings and tapestries sectioned off by silk rope to prevent tourists’ access. “The high crenelated tower windows only show merlons from the very edge of the rock, so that any attempt to attack is doomed to fail. This defence is repeated in the pleasant courtyard, under which lies a labyrinth of underground passages,” Ivanoff was saying. _Underground passages_ , Lara thought, _that’s interesting_.

When passing by a room, a certain tapestry caught her attention. It depicted a devilish figure in front of a beautiful woman dressed in rags, and between them, a radiant monk.

“What does this mean?” Lara asked the professor.

“Just a local legend.” Ivanoff said. “Are you familiar with the _Nephili_ and the Lux Veritatis?”

“Somewhat.” She smiled.

“It's about a prophecy. The Nephilim defeats the monk - a Lux Veritatis - and then takes the woman - the so-called Amazon. Isn't it amusing?”

Kurtis and Lara exchanged a glance.

“Yeah, very funny.” Kurtis snorted with sarcasm.

“Your ignorance is bold.” said the professor. “This is nonsense like most legends, since neither the Lux Veritatis nor the _Nephili_ are real. But you look like you've no clue about the matter.”

“You might be surprised with how much I know.” Kurtis slowly replied. Lara elbowed him again, but then the professor laughed.

“Ha-ha! Delightful. If there was even one member of the Lux Veritatis, I'd kiss his feet and crawl at his presence.”

Kurtis’ smirk widened into an evil grin. Lara decided that had gone too far and pulled her partner's arm. “My, look how late it is! We'll come back another day.” And they went away, leaving the surprised professor.

When they were out, Kurtis said: “Damn. It would've been fun to teach him a lesson.”

“Fun but not prudent.” she said. “We'll take care of him later. I think the clue is in that tapestry, but as long as there are tourists and professors in the middle, we can't do anything.”

“Well then.” He said. “Tonight we storm the castle.”

 

* * *

 

Gunderson put on his gloves and loaded his machine gun. Karel’s orders had been precise. _Tonight they’ll enter into Bran’s castle to get the clue they need. You know what to do._ He spent some time reviewing his men. They were fifteen, exactly those that remained after the slaughter at Cappadocia. Those bloody manticores had known very well when to stop killing.

He was upset and frustrated. Finding out that blond man, whom he regarded as Eckhardt's favourite, was actually the centre, beginning, and end of the Cabal, was a shock for him. Not only had Eckhardt – the true _Meister_ \- been merely a pawn, but also when found no longer useful, the Nephilim had used the British explorer to kill him.

So now he was a Nephilim’s servant, forced to call him _Meister_ , a name he considered worthy only of the Black Alchemist. _Once I'm done with all this,_ Gunderson thought, _I'll administer justice_.

No matter that Eckhardt had served him to the end. No matter that Gunderson had devoted himself to the Cabal's cause, in body and soul, lured by promises of immortality that he already realized would never be fulfilled. As Kurtis said, Marten Gunderson had spent his life selling himself to the highest bidder. After all, what else was expected from a hired gun?

 

* * *

 

Lara slowly and quietly placed an ear on Kurtis’ hotel room door. She heard running water in the distance, as if he were in the shower.

Night was falling, and they had everything settled to storm the castle. Took a couple of hours planning, developing strategies and possible ways to avoid the monument's poor security. But now Lara was bored to tears – as she always was when idle – and found herself spying like a naughty schoolgirl. _As if this guy even has something worth spying on_ , she told herself, while not moving from her spot.

The running water stopped. She heard footsteps. _What are you doing? Go away!_ Lara told herself, but instead she leaned a little more against the door. And then the door opened wide with a creak.

Lara landed on all fours in the middle of the room. “Dammit!” She yelled, jumping up like a cat.

In the centre of the room, a soaking wet Kurtis with a towel tied around the hips stared at her. If she had been one for blushing, her face would have been as red as a tomato at that moment, but that wasn't her style. “What’s going on?” she snapped instead, lifting the chin.

“I was hoping you could tell me.” He said, suppressing a laugh with a grin.

Lara ran a hand through her hair and looked around distractedly. “I was passing by when this shoddy old door opened...not by itself, of course...I leaned on it...”

“Do you want something?” He said, folding his arms across his bare chest.

“Yes.” She said, and quickly pointed to his wound. “You need to have your stitches removed. You've had them in too long.”

Even the dumbest excuse sounded reasonable on her lips, thought Kurtis. “Thanks, Mom,” he said wryly, “but I’ll remove them myself.”

“Oh, _really?_ ” Lara said glaring at him. “We'll see how _you_ fare with the ones on your back. You must be a phenomenon of contortion.”

He rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. Can I at least get dressed first?”

“If you need to...” she said, looking at her nails.

While he went inside the room to dress, Lara went to search for iodine, cotton, and scissors. A quote Von Croy often said to her surfaced to her mind: _Seriously, child, if you don’t find trouble, the trouble finds you_.

 

* * *

 

Kurtis lay on the couch and reluctantly allowed Lara to remove the stitches. If the slight swelling was any indication, they had been in too long as Lara said. Using her nimble fingers, she cut a stitch and pulled it with the necessary force, thus hurting him.

“You're killing me.” Kurtis protested.

“What a whiner, Mr. Trent.” Lara smiled. “Have you really been in the Foreign Legion, or was it Kindergarten?”

“It was the Legion, and you should know I was about to be promoted when I quit.”

“Why did you quit?” Lara said, remembering she'd been expelled from the British Army for having used a tank to pick up an ambassador - a bet with her roommates.

Kurtis grinned again. “That's _none_ of your bloody business, miss Croft.”

Lara took a stronger pull on the next stitch. She'd already removed all from the stomach. “It's not going to be a pretty scar.” She said.

Truth be told, it was going to be a _terrible_ scar, just as the wound had been. A red and swollen line that will forever mark the spot where Boaz’s stinger went through.

“Whatever.” he replied. “Just one more for the collection.”

And he turned to show his back. There stitches were thicker, and the scar looked even worse. Lara wondered how he survived it...and why that mysterious group had fought so hard to save his life. Although she was reluctant to admit it, she was more than grateful to them for that.

“By the way,” she said, while still removing stitches, “I never thanked you for helping me escape from Boaz. You had no need to do that, killing Eckhardt belonged to you, not me. I suppose after what happened, you regret your decision.”

Kurtis smiled, still resting on the pillow. “Never. I'd do it again.”

There was something in his voice that made Lara remain still, with open scissors still in hand. Then she sharply cut the last stitch and removed it. She got up, quickly picked up the material and said: “Be ready in half an hour. The sooner we're done with this, the better.”

She left, slamming the door, grateful that Kurtis was upside down and hadn't seen her face.

 

* * *

 

Professor Ivanoff took off his glasses and dropped them on the book, yawning. It was late; best go to sleep.

For months he was granted permission to stay overnight in one of the castle's unused rooms, in order to study _in situ_ , he said, but in actuality he didn't trust the security systems.

That night's events proved him right. When he looked out the tiny window, he saw two figures moving in the dark down there. He heard nothing though, but when he thought he must have been dreaming, he saw them again. One was agile and slender. The other seemed heavy and stronger.

 _Thieves! Should I call the police?_ _No_ , he decided. It was known the police were incompetent. Furthermore, the idea of having the entire police squad running around _his_ castle made him feel sick. Better to get rid of those two thieves personally.

He turned off the light and slipped out of the room. Then he thought it would be better to be armed and took the only weapon at his disposal: a small Swiss army knife. _That should be enough_ , he thought, and went across the corridor.

He would soon discover he was going to need more than that to challenge the two "thieves".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by Adayka.


	7. The Tapestry

Lara and Kurtis, dressed in tight black outfits, quietly formed their plan: it was vital to avoid any notice. During the day they had studied the castle’s security systems and found them lacking: the gates were protected by alarms, but not the windows. After all, who would be able to squeeze through such high and narrow windows?

Lara Croft could. She slipped quietly to the back of the castle at the foot of the cliff. Hidden among the bushes, she unhooked a grappling gun and shot a hook into the roof of the tower. The attached rope hung to the ground, where she then grabbed it and began to climb the length of the cliff to reach the base of the tower. When she reached it, she examined the windows nearest her and chose the wider one. She manoeuvred before it and tried to push it open. But the bars were shut tight. She’d have to break them.

She rocked back several times to build up speed before finally swinging towards the window full-force, legs straight out to kick it in. The aged wood yielded under her strength and she let go as it broke, falling into the room and thankfully landed on an 18 th century overstuffed couch that cushioned her impact. 

She got up, pulled in the rope and went downstairs. She took a few minutes to switch off the alarm – what high mountain technology - and opened the door for Kurtis.  “Was all that noise you? ” he asked, “What’d you break this time?”

Before Lara could reply, a figure emerged from the darkness and faced them. It was Professor Ivanoff, wielding a ridiculously puny Swiss army knife.  “ I knew it!” He shouted triumphantly. “Thieves and terrorists! You're  _not_ stealing anything!”

Lara and Kurtis stared at him...and then Ivanoff realized the man had a gun holstered under his arm...not to mention Lara's dual pistols that sat on her hips, the long knife strapped against her thigh, and the sub-machine gun slung over her shoulder.  _Doesn't matter_ , the professor encouraged himself,  _I’ve got the element of surprise_ .

But something was wrong. They didn’t seem very surprised. In fact, Lara turned her attention back towards Kurtis and said:  “Give me the torch. I'm going to study the tapestry and you explore the galleries beneath the courtyard...”

“Are you ignoring me?” The professor yelled angrily.

Lara looked back at him and smiled patiently:  “ Professor, stop waving that fruit peeler around before you hurt yourself.”

Those words, combined with Kurtis' grin, were the last straw. Losing his temper, Ivanoff chaotically began lunging the knife:  “ Enough! Go back! Go back! I have a blade and I won't hesitate to use it!”

“Wait a minute.” Kurtis said. “What did you say? _A blade?”_ The man stood before Ivanoff and, deliberately clutching his belt in slow motion, took out a weird metal disk and held it before his eyes. As if by the devil’s work, five sharp blades opened with a snap, one of which stopped only a few inches from the professor’s nose. “See, _these_ are blades _._ ” Kurtis snapped.

Ivanoff dropped the knife, terrified.

“Enough.” Lara sighed, annoyed. “We're wasting time. Get rid of him.”

The professor screamed in terror when Kurtis grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down the hall, toward an old wardrobe. He opened it and threw the little man inside, ignoring his whimpers.

“If I hear even the slightest noise coming from here,” Kurtis said, pointing at him with the Chirugai, “I'll show you what can I do with _this.”_ He slammed the door and turned the key, throwing it out the window afterwards. 

When he returned to Lara, she was examining a map of the castle spread out on the floor by flashlight.

“He won't be a problem, at least for now.” said Kurtis.

Lara smiled as she folded the map.  “ You've been too harsh with the poor thing.”

“Bah, that was _nothing_.”

They split up and went each their own way, disappearing into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

The courtyard was lit by dim moonlight. As Kurtis expected, the well located in the middle was sealed, but he had no problem breaking the lock with a shot and removing the wooden lid with a boost. He went into the hole and descended slowly into the darkness, clinging to the iron rings that served as the ladder inside the dry well.

At the bottom, he stepped onto slick, muddy ground. He turned on the flashlight and went on, half hunched over in the narrow tunnel. As he always did in passageways with multiple branches, Kurtis took the left path, since the Nephilim had used that criteria before and Count  _Drakul_ should be no exception.

The corridor ended abruptly in a rotted wooden door. With a single push it snapped off its hinges and fell to the ground.

He came into a torture chamber. The cell was tiny and filled with a horrible stench. There were several devices, most of them decayed by moisture; among them Kurtis recognized the rack, the spiked wheel, and the  _strappado_ . Why had Vlad Tepes, always so proud to display his sadism in public, rigged a hidden place for it?

Then, suddenly, Kurtis had a hunch. He looked around and felt as if the place wanted to  _speak to him_ , to uncover the terrible events that took place there. He sat on the muddy ground, adopted the lotus position and put his hands on his knees. He took a deep breath and bent his head.

What he was going to do was extremely dangerous and he knew it. His mind would wander and if he wasn’t careful, he could get lost and become an empty body, without will. But that was one of the many costs of being a Lux Veritatis. He'd spent enough time refusing to use it, but now that no longer made sense.

He closed his eyes and sent his mind far away from his body, propelling himself back in time centuries ago...

 

* * *

 

After a moment, Lara found herself before the grand tapestry. It was beautiful but depicted something awful, provoking revulsion in her. The Amazon with her clothes torn, had her face contorted in rage and impotence as the Nephilim, with the face of Vlad Tepes, clutched her by the hair. In a corner, the defeated Lux Veritatis was kneeling with his head bowed. However, he still appeared as a mysterious shining knight, as if defeated but not destroyed.

Over the heads of the characters was an hourglass and a scythe surrounded by a Latin phylactery. This amazed Lara, since she hadn't expected to see the language of the Lux Veritatis used in a tapestry made for the Nephilim's glorification:

 

**OMNIA VULNERANT, ULTIMA NECAT**

 

Lara knew about that: a famous old saying used among the Romans. Translated to her language it meant  _"All them wound, the last kills",_ referring to the hours of a person's life...so it was a very discouraging point of view.

That had little to do with the subject matter, but Lara was sure there was something more. She went towards the tapestry and patted the excellent velvet fabric. What if there was something  _inside_ the tapestry? She felt the edges. It was a big square piece with a noticeable thickness; perfect for hiding something within the wood structure.

Lara pulled out her knife, ready to make a lateral cut and look inside, but a familiar voice stopped her.

“Careful, Miss Croft,” said Gunderson, “that tapestry is over five hundred years old.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by Kaworu.


	8. Loanna Von Skopf

Lara stood still for a moment, considering her odds. Then she quickly turned, drew her weapons and fired at close range. Gunderson threw himself down and five of his men dodged the gunfire, then pounced to catch her. Seeing herself cornered, she jumped over them, flipped in the air, landed at the other side and darted towards the door.

“Follow her!” Yelled Gunderson, then talking into the walkie-talkie: “You on the other side: the woman runs in your direction!”

Lara sprinted down the hall as bullets passed next to her, hitting furniture, vases and mirrors. When she reached the spiral stairs, she stopped, panting, and heard another group of mercenaries pounding downstairs quickly, nearing her. Trapped again, but yet not defeated.

She went back and grabbed her machine gun, faced the group that pursued her, and fired. This time two fell. Taking advantage of their confusion, she jumped over the bodies and disappeared through another corridor.

“Sir!” Shouted one of the mercenaries, grasping an injured leg. “This is madness! She'll have us all killed!”

“Use the bloody gas grenades!” Gunderson ordered in reply.

Lara arrived, exhausted, in another room. She quickly closed the door, locked it and she broke the lock with a kick, leaving half a piece of the key still inside.  “ This will hold them for a while,” she gasped, and pulled out the map to locate herself.

She needed to return to the tapestry room. She wasn't stupid and had noticed the mercenaries shot  _around_ her to avoid hitting her. They were just annoying her.  _Karel wants me alive_ .

Lara dismissed the thought and focused on the map. It would take a good bit of running around to return to the tapestry. And surely someone of them would be waiting for her.

Suddenly, she noticed she couldn't breathe and started coughing. Looking around, she saw the green light of a gas grenade flashing, having been slipped under the door.  _Damn_ . And this wasn't the Louvre; there was no gas masks waiting in a closet for her somewhere. She turned away from the gas plume and entered the next room. The damn castle was a maze of interconnected chambers.

“Not a maze,” she whispered as she went downstairs, “more like a trap!”

 

* * *

 

_Kurtis’ mind drifted over time until he stopped and focused on a scene._

_Prince Vlad Tepes was entering a luxurious room of the castle. In the corner a beautiful woman wove a tapestry with trembling fingers. The very same tapestry._

_Kurtis recognized the woman; she was the one depicted as the Amazon and was visibly pregnant. Her face was contorted as she wept - not in sadness, but in rage, anger, and helplessness._

_Drakul came next to her and stroked her silky blonde hair. She shuddered._

“ _Loanna...” he muttered, “my Amazon...”_

_She abruptly turned away, disgusted, and stabbed a long needle into his arm. He angrily slapped her, but Loanna stood with dignity and challenged him._ _“_ _You're a monster. You know what your own people call you? The Devil!”_

_The Impaler shrugged as he pulled the needle out._ _“_ _And they’re right. They fear and revere me. You, however, dare to challenge me. After childbirth I'll be done with you.”_

“ _You won't have your cursed offspring.” She swore. “I’ll kill myself before that happens.”_

_Drakul laughed. His henchmen watched over her day and night. It was impossible for her to escape from her doomed fate._

“ _Say what you want.” He said. “Just finish this tapestry.”_

 

* * *

 

Lara had finally found her way back to the tapestry room...and what she saw left her breathless, and not because of the toxic gas. The beautiful piece burned with black smoke.  “ No!” She shouted and lunged at it.

Gunderson –  _that bastard!_ \- had ordered to burn it. And without the tapestry there was no way to find the clue, the key leading to the True Option.

Flames were quickly devouring the tapestry. Lara knew there was no way to stop the damage, but still pulled a curtain and began to whip at the fire.

And then she saw it. Behind the burned fabric something appeared. It was a secret compartment made with fabric lining, also burned, and revealed a small drawer which was, however, empty. There was nothing inside. 

The explorer was so surprised she didn't hear anyone approaching until a pair of strong hands grabbed her from behind. She furiously struggled and tried to loose her guns, but then another pair of hands snatched them and ripped the machine gun from her shoulder.

Lara turned her hip and slammed a side kick to the stomach of a mercenary who had disarmed her. To his misfortune he fell squarely into the tapestry and began to burn with it.

Gunderson was holding her. The pressure on her arms increased until she began to notice tingling. She writhed like an eel, but her captor was far stronger and didn't let up.  “ Hold still, you bitch,” he whispered in her ear. “You're a hard nut to crack, huh? Now I'll use you as bait to attract your friend.”

 

* * *

 

_The scene changed suddenly, and Kurtis found himself in the torture chamber, but the devices were new and spotless. There was a prisoner hanging in strappado: The Lux Veritatis depicted on the tapestry._

_Vlad Tepes, aka Drakul, was watching the scene as if enjoying a minstrel dance, cheerful and smiling at the suffering of his captive._ _“_ _You’re certainly stubborn.” The Impaler said. “You know you've lost. Why do you insist on not telling me the True Option? Your Order is doomed.”_

“ _Someone…” gasped the prisoner, “someone will fix our mistakes.”_

_Vlad laughed. Yes, there were still many of them, but he would ensure there would be no one left. Absolutely no one._

“ _Tell me again about the Option, or you'll suffer.”_

“ _I've suffered for a while.”_

“ _Oh, you'll suffer even more. I can extend your agony as long as I want, warrior monk.”_

_The tortured man looked up, and Kurtis had the impression he was looking straight at him. But that wasn't possible. He wasn't there...at least not in physical form._

“ _A_ _mid a wide range of options,” recited the monk, like a learned lesson, “only one is true. Who knows it will be able to grant life or death to either of the two rivals - Lux Veritatis or Nephilim - without the other succumbing to death.” He looked away and stared at his torturer._ _“_ _You, Nephilim…you used to know about it...but you corrupted yourselves and lost it. We…however, we've never known from the beginning.”_

“ _Liar_ _!” Vlad Drakul spat._

“ _Only angels know about it.” Replied the monk. “You’ll never know the truth, Drakul. If a Nephilim kills a Lux Veritatis, the Nephilim dies with him, and so backwards. We're two sides of the same coin. And when there will be only one left on both sides...they will have to rely on each other.”_

_An angry Vlad went towards him._ _“_ _Stop your gibberish. I win. I have the Amazon. Loanna is mine and she'll give birth to my kin. The Prophecy has been fulfilled.”_

_The tortured prisoner smiled through his cracked lips._ _“_ _Loanna...you've taken her, but she's not the one who will defeat you. Another one will appear...another one you won’t beat...she will discover the True Option.... a_ _nd destroy your kin.”_

 

* * *

 

There was a blow, like a flash. Kurtis' mind went back and returned to his body with such violence he couldn’t control it. The impact hit and knocked him to the ground. He breathed heavily several times, trying to calm his runaway heartbeat. Then he rose, caked in mud, and left that place with faltering steps.

An outside force had expelled him from the vision. Someone had prevented him going further in the revelation. He needed to talk to Lara, even if she refused to believe him. It was about time to confess the truth about himself...and about her.

Upon climbing up the pit, he heard gunshots, and saw poisonous gas clouds seeping through the castle.  “ Gunderson. That son of a bitch again.” He murmured. Everything was filled with toxic gas. He was forced to crouch along the floor where there was less gas and move slowly.

And then he heard Lara scream a piercing and prolonged cry of pain.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by Carola Funder.


	9. The Manuscript

# 

Gunderson twisted her arm viciously. Lara stopped struggling as that would only increase the pain. She clenched her teeth.

“I think he still hasn’t heard you.” Gunderson whispered.

“Go to hell!” She gasped.

“I see. Well, if the lady refuses to cooperate, we'll have to use a more convincing method.”

He told a mercenary to unsheathe the knife from Lara’s thigh and hold the blade over the fire that was burning a nearby chair. Nearly all the wall had burned by then, so Gunderson dragged his prey next to the window. He wasn’t going to leave the room until it was absolutely necessary. The mercenary who had fallen into the flames earlier had fled towards the door, engulfed in fire. The boss had doubts about his survival. The other mercenary brought over the knife, whose edge was now red hot.

“Well, Miss Croft,” Gunderson added, “we’ll see if you fight so _efficiently_ with just one eye...”

The mercenary brought the glowing blade to Lara’s face. But before he could blind her, an orange sparkling object whistled between them with such precision that it cleanly amputated the mercenary’s hand, splattering blood on Lara’s face. The mercenary began to scream, alternating between looking at the bloody stump and his now dismembered hand on the floor, still grasping the knife.

Gunderson shoved Lara against the wall and threw himself to the floor, narrowly avoiding his neck being sliced by the Chirugai. The blade returned immediately to its owner's hand, who stood at the door. Kurtis' eyes burned like the flames devouring that room.

“We meet again, Trent,” Gunderson said.

Lara tried to wipe the mercenary’s blood off her face, visibly disgusted. She got up, still stunned by the blow, and retrieved her knife. “Seems you’ve run out of men.” Kurtis said, seeing the mutilated mercenary fleeing out the doorway and still screaming in pain.

“War casualties.” The boss said. “You're still in disadvantage.”

“I wouldn't say so. You can't dispose of us so easily. That freak you work for wants us both alive.”

“Not you, Trent. Just her.”

Lara placed herself next to Kurtis and brandished the glowing knife, although her arm still felt sore.

“You kill me, Karel dies. There’s only one of us left on each side. Your beloved _Meister_ hasn't told you this tale?”

Gunderson loosed an outburst of laughter. “He knows the True Option. He won't die with you, you moron.”

Lara was listening to them in silence, frowning.

“If that were true, he’d have already taken her.” Kurtis said, nodding towards Lara. “He doesn't know jack shit.”

Lara took part then: “We need to leave! This place is going to burn down!” And it was true. The wooden old furniture had held enough, but now the flames were spreading, the heat was unbearable, and the air was almost unbreathable.

Kurtis agreed and picked up his Boran. Almost immediately some sirens began to sound from the outside; it was probably Brasov's police and firemen. The fire and the fuss of Gunderson’s men must have awakened the whole city.

“Come here and fight like a man!” Shouted Gunderson.

“Why bother? The police will take care of you.” Kurtis said mockingly before following Lara.

While they were running downstairs, Lara told Kurtis about the secret compartment under the tapestry. “There was something there but someone took it!”

“I’d bet my life,” Kurtis said, “that ‘someone’ was our fruit-peeler-wielding friend.”

Lara hummed in agreement, too tired to speak. They had little time to reach the professor before the police did.

 

* * *

 

Vladimir Ivanoff smiled hopefully when he heard the police's sirens. “They have come to rescue me! Heeeey! Help! Here I am!”

But then the closet door burst into pieces inexplicably, and who appeared in front of him was not a policeman.

“No!” He yelled, terrified, as he shielded himself with his arms, “Noooo! Not you again!”

“Yeah, me again.” Kurtis said and pulled him out. “You better start walking and keep your mouth shut, since nobody's coming to help you.”

 

* * *

 

Ivanoff’s apartment was a mess. Dusty bookcases, tables, and books lay forgotten since he'd spent most of his time at the castle. Forced at gunpoint, the professor led Lara and Kurtis there, and now they sat on comfortable couches, while their victim stared frightened at his kidnappers.

“What are you going to do with me?” Ivanoff stammered. He was already convinced that they were a pair of savages. Their current appearance didn't help improve his opinion: Kurtis was smeared with mud and Lara still had speckles of a stranger’s blood on her face.

“We don’t want to hurt you.” Lara said. “We’re just searching for information which you surely have.”

“You expect me to help you?” He said. “You set fire to my castle and locked me up like a dog! You and that...that...” He said, pointing at Kurtis with a trembling finger, “that _freak_ , who somehow reduced a door to splinters?”

“Well he’s obviously not too afraid to speak.” Kurtis said.

The professor shrank. Lara looked at Kurtis and thought Ivanoff was right. Kurtis was _not_ an ordinary man. And it was too little what she knew about him.

“We didn’t set fire to the castle.” Lara continued. “Those were Marten Gunderson’s mercenaries, the right hand to our rival, Joachim Karel.”

“And you couldn’t find another location for your skirmishes, could you?” The professor whimpered. “ _M_ _y beautiful castle!”_

Lara looked at Kurtis again as she said to him: “We need him to trust us. Tell him everything.”

“Can’t wait.” He agreed.

“Tell me what?”

Lara leaned towards Ivanoff and fixed her brown eyes on him. “After listening to this, you won’t feel the same again.”

 

* * *

 

Ivanoff couldn't believe his ears. It couldn't be real; they had to be kidding. “But...” he stammered, “but it is known that both Nephilim and Lux Veritatis are only a legend! They're not real. You’re making fun of me, or those Karel and Eckhardt are doing so with you.”

Kurtis breathed heavily, but Lara intervened before he exploded: “We're _not_ joking, Ivanoff. Too many innocent people have died in a horrible way because of _that legend_ , among them his father,” she said pointing at Kurtis, “and my mentor, Professor Werner Von Croy.”

“Seems that the psychopath you’re talking about believes in this nonsense, but he only needs to be put in jail.”

“ _Put him in jail?”_ Kurtis exploded. “Karel's a _Nephilim_! There are _no_ bars able to stop him! Lara's the one who can end up in jail, if she's charged with that freak's atrocities!”

Ivanoff stared at him and then nodded, shocked. He meditated a moment in silence, and soon he said: “So, if this Karel wants to fulfil the prophecy, and for that he's chosen Miss Croft as his Amazon, who's supposed to be the Lux Veritatis who must prevent that?”

Kurtis felt surprised when he realized he didn’t want to answer, even if answering meant teaching a lesson to that insufferable asshole. But Lara remained silent as she looked at him, waiting for his answer. “It’s me.” He said finally.

Ivanoff’s jaw dropped while staring at him with a stupid look of disbelief. “Oh, please, no.” He whispered, and dropped his head between his hands. “Not you.”

Lara smiled discretely.

Kurtis pulled his jersey's sleeve up until showing his shoulder. There was a tattoo, a cross over a V, like a sharpened anchor. Lara had already seen that symbol when she had tended his wounds, and also in Von Croy’s notebook: The Lux Veritatis sign. Not the typical tattoo of fairs and swap-meets.

“Then...that door’s explosion...” Ivanoff stammered. “Are you a _real_ Lux Veritatis? With supernatural powers and all that stuff?”

“What do you think, smartass?” Kurtis replied, covering his tattoo.

Lara took part again. “Now you know we’re serious. We must find the True Option so that the balance tips in Kurtis’ favour. We thought the tapestry would reveal the next step to us, as the Golden Seal had led us here, to Romania. But behind the tapestry there was only an empty compartment.”

“And why do you think I know something about that?”

Kurtis and Lara had at that exact same moment the intense desire to strangle him. It was hard to convince him, that goddamn runt.

“You know the castle better than anyone. What was in that compartment?” _And if you lie to me I’ll beat your dirty face,_ added Lara in silence.

But Ivanoff sighed, and finally decided to cooperate. “There was a manuscript written by Loanna Von Skopf, prisoner and concubine of Vlad Tepes the Impaler.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by Carola Funder.


	10. The Amazon’s Story

** **

 Ivanoff rose and led his "guests" to a slide projector. He switched it on and placed several transparencies on the panel. They showed a Latin text with shakey handwriting, small and difficult to read.

“Loanna knew how to speak, read, and write in Latin,” he began to explain. “A very educated woman, she was the daughter of a Croatian feudal lord, so she was raised in a convent. When she reached the age of sixteen she was meant to be married, but Loanna refused, and since she was her father's favourite child, he allowed her to remain unwed. Here she tells how she learned to ride, fight, and handle all sorts of weapons. She was very skilled with the bow and the sword, similar to Joan of Arc.”

“That’s unusual.” Lara said, “It was more likely she would have returned to the convent, as happened to women who refused to get married.”

“Loanna was special. Unfortunately, I've not been able to find references to her in archives or other sources. She doesn't exist in history, only in this manuscript.”

Lara examined the slides closely. Loanna’s handwriting was fine and elegant, but as she went on the inscription became deeper, as if the author was being forced.

Ivanoff went on: “Loanna tells with pride how the people loved her and wanted her to be her father’s successor in ruling the province. They called her _the Amazon_ ...I guess Vlad Tepes chose her for a reason. The Transylvanian prince met her during an expedition he made to the Croatian land. He tried to kidnap her but her father’s warriors protected her. So he put the castle under siege. His troops, composed of bloodthirsty Tartars, were far superior to those of Loanna’s father’s and for weeks they burned his fields and murdered all his peasants. Finally, the Impaler gave him an _ultimatum_ : he must deliver his daughter, or he would devastate his land until not a single stone was unturned.”

“Nobody went to their aid?” Lara said.

“They feared the Impaler. That wretch delivered his daughter, but received punishment immediately and was impaled alongside all his men.”

“That motherfucker.” Kurtis muttered.

“Vlad took Loanna to Bran and made her his concubine,” continued Ivanoff. “He was eager to fulfil the prophecy, since the Nephilim were disappearing in the Shadows War against the Lux Veritatis. Then a member of this Order, dressed as a knight, was the only one able to face _Drakul_. But the Impaler defeated him, and after torturing him for days, finally killed him.” Ivanoff lifted the last transparency and showed how the manuscript was abruptly interrupted. “And this is all Loanna tells us, with admirable stoicism considering her victimhood. She didn't write anymore, as you can see, and we are ignorant of whether she fulfilled what was expected of her.”

“What about the original one?” Lara said.

“I sent it to Bucharest.”

Ivanoff switched off the projector and gathered the transparencies. Lara turned towards Kurtis, but he was looking away, lost in thought.

“So this Karel believes that you're the Amazon.” Ivanoff commented. “That means Vlad didn't fulfil his awful intentions, despite apparently choosing the suitable woman. In fact, there haven’t been many women with those sort of heroic and indomitable traits.”

Lara kept staring at Kurtis, who seemed not to be there. Nevertheless, Ivanoff’s last sentence made her frown: “Miss Croft...I wouldn't like to be in your shoes.”

Lara looked at him. “What about the tapestry?”

“Loanna was forced to weave it by that shitstain.” Kurtis said suddenly.

Ivanoff looked at the man, surprised. “Then...that's a double humiliation, since Loanna hated all housewife work and she used to say she should have been born a man.”

“And what about the sentence _Omnia vulnerant, ultima necat_?” Lara said.

The professor shrugged: “Who knows? The scythe and the hourglass are symbols of the brevity of life and the imminent arrival of death. Maybe _Drakul_ wanted to make a cruel joke, or maybe Loanna, feeling hopeless, unleashed her anger in this fatalistic phrase.”

Lara returned the transparencies to him and said: “We're grateful to you. You've cooperated with us, but it’s better for you to disappear for a while, now that Karel may target you.”

Ivanoff shook his head. “But where would I go? This is my home. No, I'm staying.”

“It’s your choice. C'mon.” She said to Kurtis. “We're done here.”

They went towards the door, but then Ivanoff said to Kurtis: “Umm...could you please show me more of your powers? That closet door explosion was amazing...I'd like to see something like that again…for example, make something fly or burst into pieces.”

Kurtis bellowed at him with a glance. “You think I’m a circus clown?”

“Uhh...no...”

 

* * *

 

The sun was rising when they returned to the hotel, so tired that they entered their respective rooms without exchanging a word. Almost ten hours later, Lara woke up. She had fallen asleep on the bed without even pulling back the sheets. A fresh breeze came through the window. She got up, entered the bathroom, and had a shower to wash away the rest of the blood and dirt. Wrapped in a towel, she stood in front of the mirror and examined her injured arm. It was discoloured a blueish purple, but neither broken nor dislocated. While rubbing ointment over the bruise, she recalled with displeasure their unsuccessful outcomes up to that moment.

Suddenly, the telephone rang. Lara picked it up and heard a familiar voice speaking in Greek: “How are you doing, Miss Croft?” It was the man who had called before in the boat, apologizing for Karolis’ attack.

“Who are you?” Lara shouted. “My personal doctor?”

“I’m sorry for my manners, Miss Croft. First of all, I'll introduce myself: I’m Minos Axiotis, from Greece.”

“I’ve taken notice of your language.” Lara said sarcastically.

“I'm warning you. You’re in danger.”

“ _Seriously?_ I had _no_ idea. _”_

Silence came from the other side of the line. “Miss, please don’t use sarcasm with me. Your situation is serious and you know it. He’s using you to get the information he needs. Indeed, he's very well taken care of it. You’ve been able to take care of yourself until now, but I can tell you, a Nephilim is nothing like the kind of enemies you've faced before.”

“But...”

“He’s watching you. Be careful and, above all, you _must_ _not_ separate from Mr. Trent's side. He’s the only one who can protect you...and you’re the only one who can save him.”

Minos hung up, and a very upset Lara approached the window. Suddenly, she stiffened as she looked down at the street. There was somebody watching her. She recognized him immediately. His white skin, his blonde hair, his blue eyes. Clad in black, like Death. Cold and lethal. Joachim Karel.

He stared at her and smiled. It was an empty smile, without heat, without purpose, so cold she could feel it cut the air. Lara stared at him with rage. _I don't fear you_ , she thought in silence.

She closed the window, but then the Nephilim’s voice sounded in her mind, as if he had spoken aloud. _You will._

She turned again towards the glass, but he'd disappeared. The street was empty, swept by the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by Adayka.


	11. The Egyptologist

****

Lara met Kurtis sometime later and they sat in the hotel café. All televisions and radios were broadcasting the events of last night: Bran castle had suffered serious fire damage and the police had arrested the suspects Marten Gunderson and some of his accomplices. On the television Professor Ivanoff was giving a statement: “...a great loss for our national patrimony...this terrorist has struck a hard blow to our castle conservation efforts...”

“Do you think others could be implicated?” Asked the reporter. “The suspect in custody has stated there were more participants, one of them a woman...”

“Nonsense.” Ivanoff said. “I saw no one apart from that crazy man and his gang...”

Kurtis lit a cigarette and said: “Well, at least that big mouth of his is helpful for once.”

“In any case, we're not safe here. The sooner we leave, the better.” Lara said. “What did you want to tell me?”

He leaned back in the chair and looked at her: “I discovered something in the network of corridors under the well: A hidden room with torture instruments. Certainly the place where our friend the Impaler locked up that poor bastard and tortured him to death.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“I’ve seen it.” He said taking a puff of the cigarette. “I guess you’ve already noticed I’m not an ordinary guy.”

Lara raised an eyebrow. “Right, let me do a review: you burst open doors with a hand gesture, you’re able to fall down three flights of stairs without hurting yourself, you made me fly towards a platform at the Strahov, and you own a weapon apparently controlled by your mind.” She tipped her head to one side. “Yes, I'd say you’re positively _unordinary_.”

Kurtis made a face. “I was forced to be indiscreet. I usually go unnoticed.”

“That’s a virtue.” Lara recognized, “I always try to do so, but hardly achieve it.”

“Well, in your case, it’d be quite _difficult_ to go unnoticed.” He smiled at her.

Lara stared at him. Was he flirting with her? Or he was just being ironic? “And what are you getting at?” She cut abruptly.

Kurtis explained to her what he'd seen when he sent his mind to the past. Lara listened to him patiently and when he ended, she said: “Well, at least Ivanoff told us the truth. But that’s not really useful, since we have no idea what our next step is.”

Kurtis silently thanked her for not asking awkward questions or requesting embarrassing demonstrations of him.

“We've arrived at a dead-end.” Lara sighed, and looked at the Golden Seal. Then suddenly, her eyes widened. “Hey!”

“What?”

“The Seal!”

“What's up with the Seal?”

Lara removed the ring from his finger and examined it closer. “It looks different!” And it was true. The square-shaped seal no longer had a map of the Carpathians carved in it. Now there was a different area. “You didn’t tell me the Seal had changed!”

“Lara, I hadn’t noticed ‘til just now. Until a few days ago it was nothing more than a common ring given to me as a birthday gift.”

But that could _not_ be a common ring. The engraving had changed, and Kurtis was wondering himself _when_ that had happened. He was so used to it that he hadn't noticed the transformation.

“What place is it supposed to be now?” Kurtis examined it.

Lara smiled. “Do you recognize it?”

“Is it…?”

“Exactly.”

It was a magical place, full of mystery and enchantment, with an insurmountable beauty, where the greatness of an ancient civilization had left its immortal tracks and still continued to fascinate people everywhere. Its legacy was immortal. A place Lara knew very well, and despite the terrible experiences of her past, she uttered its name like she was glad to return. “Egypt, Kurtis.” She said, smiling widely. “Egypt!”

 

* * *

 

Cairo Airport was packed full of people. Tourists from all over were flocking to enjoy the country’s beauties during its peak season in winter, when the heat of Egypt was bearable. In summer it could reach up to fifty degrees in the shadows, which is reason why the tourists took advantage of this break to make their trips.

Lara and Kurtis were thankful for the large amount of people to draw attention away from them, although they looked exactly what they were: a pair of adventurers riding a superb motorbike through the streets of the capital. The plane trip from Bucharest had been dreadful with Lara having to use a fake ID to avoid suspicion, and they discussed which was the exact place the Seal was pointing out. The star was located at some point near the oasis of Al-Fayoum, made famous due to its Roman tombs and portrayals.

But Lara was sure it had nothing to do with ancient history. That country had so many aspects, and most tourists only knew of that one. What they were looking for was, depending on if it was a Nephilim or a Lux Veritatis' stronghold, older or newer than the era of the Pharaohs.

“We'll find out later.” Kurtis said. “Now it’s time to leave this damn place.”

“Wait.” Said Lara, touching his shoulder. “I have a contact who can help us.”

“Who?”

“An old friend.”

 

* * *

 

Jean Yves had spent so many years settled down in Egypt that it was his home now. He lived in a small, isolated house some point between Karnack and Luxor, but he also had a studio apartment in Alexandria and an office in the Cairo Museum. That day he'd wasted hours arguing with Zahi Hawass about Keop’s pyramid, recently closed to the public for no apparent reason. Nevertheless, the Egyptian archaeologist had refused to negotiate, and the pyramid would remain closed indefinitely.

After leaving the Museum, Jean wiped the sweat of his forehead and waved himself with a newspaper. Even in February you could die of heat exhaustion in Egypt. When he looked around, he saw a pair of tourists parking a motorbike in front of him. The woman sitting behind, disembarked from the vehicle and went towards him smiling.

“Hi, Jean.”

“Lara!” He exclaimed in his French accent. “It has been a while!”

Lara gave him a friendly hug.

“How did you find me?”

“I hoped you would be here. We must talk, we need your help.”

Jean watched over her shoulder and noticed Kurtis. “Who is that man?”

“Kurtis Trent. He’s with me.”

Jean didn’t have a good impression of Kurtis, but he patted Lara's arm. “Well, I’m very happy to see you again, and so healthy! Last time you were here...”

“Better if you don't remind me of that.” Lara snorted.

“Well, it will be a pleasure to help you. Please, come to my office.”

Lara told the whole tale to Jean, but she omitted Karel’s intentions with her and Kurtis’ true role.

“This is our guide.” She said, showing the Seal to him. “Any idea of where this place is?”

Jean examined the ring, frowning. “In fact...that’s Al-Fayoum cemetery.”

“But the star points to a nearby but different location.”

“This area seems to be underground. It will require an excavation. Fortunately, I’m one of Al-Fayoum keepers, so there will be no problem with Hawass. How much time do you have?”

“Plenty.” Kurtis took part. “Karel will patiently wait in the shadows until we discover something. We’re in no hurry.”

The archaeologist nodded. “Well then. Give me a couple of days in order to procure equipment then we'll start the digging.” He smiled, looking at Lara. “My dear, what kind of messes you find yourself in! Two years ago, you released Seth, and now you fight against demons and fallen angels. You’re unique.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter image is a screenshot of Jean Yves, taken from Tomb Raider: The Last Revelation.


	12. A Sketchbook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is an amazing illustration by the talented Hydraballista. http://hydraballista.deviantart.com/

** **

 

Gunderson collapsed upon the rickety old bed and squinted through the sun that shone through the bars of his cell window. He'd spent three days locked up and under judicial disposition, awaiting trial over the damage caused to Brasov’s heritage. His situation couldn't be worse and he didn't expect anybody to help him.

He was proved wrong when he heard almost inaudible steps on the hall floor. He looked through the little window of his cell door and noticed a black clothed figure. Gunderson bowed his head in respect.

“ _Meister_.”

“Excellent work you made of Bran,” Karel said.

Gunderson wasn't sure if he was serious or just more of his snarky comments. “ _Meister_ , I lost my men.”

“I'll provide you with better ones.”

Gunderson found that offensive. Each one of his men was valuable and had been precious to him. After so many months of training, of earning confidence and respect, they had been absolutely loyal toward him. They had been the best. “I exposed those two, but they've escaped.”

“Of course. What did you expect? If I don't let them make progress, they won't find out what I need.”

“That being the case, _Meister_ , should I suppose I’m no longer useful?”

“That decision belongs _only_ to me.” Karel extended a hand and lightly touched the door lock. At his contact the metal began to twist and melt like butter, dripping onto the ground. Gunderson stepped back, feeling a mixture of horror and admiration. The lock melted completely and the door opened. For a moment, Gunderson thought he was going to be killed. But Karel turned and went down the corridor. He hurried to follow after him. “What about the guards? They might hear us,” Gunderson commented.

“I _seriously_ doubt it,” Karel replied, pointing to a corner with a contemptuous wave of his hand. There, on the floor, were the twisted corpses of the unfortunate guards that were on call that night. And all over wall, smeared with their blood, was the Nephilim writing. The Damned Language.

 

* * *

 

Five Jeeps, preceded by a big motorbike, were crossing the desert's highway toward Al-Fayoum Oasis. It was afternoon by the time they set up camp in a nearby area: Jean, Lara, Kurtis and about thirty workers. That evening they sat around the campfire to have supper, except Kurtis, who went by himself to sit on a dune.

Still looking at him, Jean told Lara: “Where did you find that guy?”

“He was a legionnaire.”

“Was? And now what?”

Lara shrugged. “I crossed paths with him by chance and since then we’ve been working together on this.”

“I do not have a good feeling about him.”

She laughed. “He's a bit sullen sometimes, but not so bad at heart.”

“Trusting a stranger is something you don’t do.”

“I know, but I owe him that. He helped me when he didn't have to. After all, it was his mission, not mine.”

Jean already knew about Boaz’s incident.

“Eckhardt, or rather Karel, murdered his father,” continued Lara, “and he wants to have revenge. I'm involved because of Werner’s murder.”

“That man was insufferable,” Jean snorted with all his good reasons to hate Von Croy.

“Maybe,” Lara admitted distractedly. “He'd been a thorn in my side all these years, but he made me who I am. He didn't deserve to die like that.”

“Nobody does,” Jean agreed.

 

* * *

 

After a while, Lara stood and went towards the outskirts of the camp where Kurtis was. He was smoking and watching the stars. She sat down in silence next to him and sank her fingers into the earth. Egypt’s sand was smooth like silk, with an intense salty aroma and a reddish hue. After all, that's what _Egypt_ meant: The Red Earth.

“Karel was in Brasov a day before we left,” she said, taking a handful of sand and letting it slip through her fingers.

“I noticed him,” Kurtis replied. “He’s threatening you.” That was a statement, not a question.

Lara stared at him and sternly said: “He doesn’t scare me.”

“He doesn’t intend to scare you. He just wants you to know he’s always there. That's what those freaks always do.”

Suddenly, Lara blinked and said: “Do you see that?”

“What?”

She pointed towards the horizon. There the starry sky began to become blurred and cloudy.

“What the hell is that?”

“ _Sirocco,”_ Lara said, rising with a jump. “It’s causing a dust storm. We need to leave and warn them. It’ll reach us soon.”

 

* * *

 

Kurtis stumbled through the violent, sandy wind and fumbling for the Jeep’s door, opened it with a tug, jumped inside, and closed it with a bang. “I got sand everywhere,” he coughed, trying to clean his face. He had gone out to verify his motorbike was well-protected by the canvas cover he brought wrapped around the handlebars. He wouldn’t get a wink of sleep if he couldn’t be sure the corrosive sand wouldn't damage the engine.

_Typical man_ , thought Lara, who was lying in front of the steering wheel, with the seat leaned all the way back for greater comfort. “How are the others?”

“Your friend is sleeping like a log and the workers are praying and striking their chest with the Quran.”

She smiled. “They always get nervous when something like this happens, thinking it's a bad omen: Allah sending a punishment.”

They spent some time talking about the issue. After a while, Lara began to find the idea of sleeping next to Kurtis all night inside a Jeep in the middle of a roaring sandstorm _awkward._ Luckily, he had the consideration to lie in the back seat. He didn't take long to fall asleep, but for some strange reason Lara couldn’t, even though she was used to the _sirocco's_ deafening roar.

On the Jeep’s dashboard Kurtis had left a small portfolio. She had seen him taking it from his luggage and grasping some papers, where he seemed to write something. Lara had taken notice of this for some time now, but she hadn't really minded. However, at that moment curiosity overcame her. After checking he was asleep – he was so quiet that she hardly heard his breathing - she took the portfolio and opened it. It was a sketchbook containing pencil drawings. There were many figures drawn on both sides of the papers, some of them corrected several times. Lara checked the sketches, one by one.

They were _undeniably_ good, with a strong and realistic outline. On the first piece of paper there was the Proto-Nephilim, a creature who Lara only recognized by his description. That horrible monster had been depicted from several points of view and with accuracy. He'd sketched Boaz, focusing on details; and also some artefacts, like the Chirugai, the Sanglyph, his Order’s symbol…even some Cabal members.

When getting to the last sketches, Lara felt suddenly stunned. Kurtis had drawn a woman. It was _her_.

His characteristic harsh outlines were smoothed to shape her face. Lara was depicted in so many ways: frontal, profile, looking askance, with sunglasses; her sarcastic face, her lips tightened in anger, even smoothly smiling... sleepy in the hollow of a cave or kneeling on the floor, looking furious at a _certain_ door opening unexpectedly. There were hardly any erase marks in those sketches, as if he was sure from the beginning about what he wanted to depict.

Lara kept staring at the sketchbook for a while, fascinated. But pretty soon she was overcome with a feeling of guilt: she should _not_ be looking at this. And although all her life was focused on snooping around, for once she regretted it and quickly put the drawings back inside the portfolio, taking care to leave them in the same order she'd found them. She returned the portfolio to the dashboard and closed her eyes, but didn't manage to catch any sleep. The wind still roared and the sand whipped the Jeep.

 

* * *

 

He felt a sunbeam on his face and blinked, annoyed, before turning his head. So there was again the darkness. In fact, there was _too much_ darkness. Kurtis suddenly sat up and looked around. “Lara!” He shouted, touching her arm.

She woke up and also looked around, stunned. “Oh, damn!” She whispered. Through the Jeep's windows nothing could be seen but piles of sand compressed against the glass. A single fragment of sky glimpsed through the passenger window, where the sunbeam had shone through. “We're buried in sand!” Lara added with a tense voice.

Kurtis unsheathed his gun. “I'll break the glass.”

“Then the sand will get in!”

“I _won’t_ be buried alive,” he roundly replied while violently pistol-whipping the window. The glass cracked and the pressure caused the rest to burst so the sand began to pour inside quickly. Kurtis went ahead pressed through the running sand to stand on the hood of the Jeep. He reached an arm out to Lara, grabbed onto her with all his strength, and pulled her toward him.

The outside view wasn't much better. Most of the camp had disappeared under the sand. Only Kurtis’ motorbike and a couple of Jeeps had remained visible. But as for the rest of the expedition...there was no sign of them.

Lara and Kurtis ran towards a tent with some shovels. Helped by workers who had also escaped being buried alive, they began to shovel sand away to unearth the rest of the Jeeps, which were easy to locate thanks to the horns beeping and cries for help. Eventually a door appeared under the sand, and behind it Jean's terrified face. Lara opened it and pulled her friend out to safety. _“_ _Mon Dieu!”_ He gasped, “I thought I wouldn't make it!”

They spent half an hour removing sand to help the rest of them. It was useless to try to extract the vehicles, so they left them half-buried.

“What bad luck!” The Frenchman complained, looking around, “this damned _sirocco_ will delay our work!”

“I wouldn't bet on that,” Kurtis said and pointed to the excavation area, cleared by the sirocco. Before them, half-buried in the sand, stood an arc-shaped underground entrance.

“That’s it,” Lara said, coming near to examine the structure. There was a sign carved in the arc’s threshold. The cross and the V, like a sharpened anchor: The Lux Veritatis’ symbol.

 

* * *

 

While Jean and his workers were reconstructing the camp, Lara prepared herself to enter the stronghold. She opened her luggage trunk and picked up a rolled canvas, raised it with concerted effort and threw it on a wooden table. After unrolling it with a sweep of her arm, it revealed a great arsenal of weapons: pistols, machine guns, shotguns and other goodies she'd been collecting for a while.

Kurtis whistled. “Are you going into battle, Lieutenant Croft?”

“The more of them, the better,” she replied, loading a weapon. “You want any?”

He shook his head. “I’m a one-gun kind of man.”

“May I see?”

Kurtis threw the Boran X to her. She took it and hefted it up, rotating it in her hand. Then she aimed it off to the distance and looked down the sights. “Wow,” she said, admiring, “Nice.”

“It's a prototype. I designed it myself.”

Lara raised her eyebrows in surprise, and examined the gun again. “It looks like a really good weapon. An expert is telling you that.”

He smiled and took the Boran back. Lara finished by adjusting her mag pouches, filled the backpack and hung it on her shoulders.

Then Jean arrived to the tent and looked at Kurtis who was relaxing in a chair, surprised: “He's not going with you?”

“No, I'll go first,” Lara explained. “He’ll wait a couple of hours and then he’ll follow me. Going together is foolish. This way if one of us dies, at least the other one is left. But if both die squashed by the same boulder it wouldn't make our day.”

Jean was already used to Lara’s cynical logic. As for Kurtis, his expression didn’t change. That man was enigmatic.

They accompanied her until the tunnel entrance.

“Take care, my dear,” told Jean.

Lara smiled, and winking at Kurtis, said: “No problem.” Then she descended into the darkness.


	13. The Amazon's Tomb

** **

Giselle approached the patient, a seventeen-year-old boy who was hurting himself as he struggled desperately against the straps that tied him to the stretcher. “Keep still,” she advised, tapping the syringe a few times. “The less you resist, the less it’ll hurt.”

The boy kept squirming. Of course, Giselle knew he didn’t understand German, for he was a recent victim, an Italian kidnapped during a class trip. She also knew he couldn't hear at all anymore. The last dose she administered had left him completely deaf. But it was necessary to sacrifice some patients for the cause.

She injected the serum and left the room, ignoring the crying teenager. “Close the door,” she ordered to Friedrich, the guard. “The inmates are unbearable this morning.” And it was true. Through the white painted halls all sorts of moans, cries, and laments filled the air.

“Did you know the _Meister_ has returned from Romania?” Friedrich said, locking the room door.

“Oh, really?”

“He says he'll shut down the experiments, for they’re no longer useful. He's found another way to re-breed his race.”

Giselle froze. “What? _No way!”_ She took off her lab coat and left the medical device on the guard's truck. “He’s already here in Munich?”

“He’s just arrived.”

“Well, I'll see him immediately!”

 

* * *

 

Karel sat quietly at the round table, looking with apathy at the empty chairs surrounding it. The Cabal had an identical room in each of its strongholds: Paris, Prague, Munich, Moscow. They used it for their meetings, decorated with that luminous sphere in the centre of the table and stone gargoyles: Eckhardt and his whims.

The door burst open and a woman in her thirties entered. She was a true Nordic beauty: fair skinned with short, blond hair and shining green eyes. Tall and thin, she radiated an air of superiority that the other Cabal members found annoying, but amusing to Karel. “ _Meister_ ,” she said, greeting him with a small bow.

“What do you want, Giselle?”

“I've been told you're going to cancel the project.”

“Indeed.”

The young scientist's lower lip trembled, but she controlled herself. Eckhardt hadn't been one to appreciate weakness among Cabal's members, and Karel was even more inflexible in that regard.

“But _Meister_...” she hesitated, “my experiments are finally working. In three months I'll succeed in isolating the particles and we’ll have satisfactory results.”

“No need anymore. I found the Amazon.”

Giselle sank into her chair, bowed down, and whispered: “How can you believe in that nonsense?”

Upon seeing the flashing cold blue of Karel’s narrowed eyes, she knew she'd just made a terrible mistake. “Watch what you say,” he hissed. “I _won't_ have my decisions questioned.”

“Forgive me, _M_ _eister_ ,” she said, lowering her gaze, “but…I'm getting some results: patients are finally surviving the injections. And I've created life!”

“So did your sister.”

Giselle snorted with contempt. “My sister’s Proto-Nephilim was a disgusting and useless experiment. She should have destroyed it in its embryonic stage. I don't do such botched jobs.”

“Your sister was a great scientist. One of the Cabal’s best ones ever. Eckhardt was wrong in sentencing her.”

She again raised her shimmering eyes. “Then why did you let him do _that_ to her?”

“Questioning me again, Boaz?”

Giselle shook. She hated being called by her surname, which reminded her too much of her sister.

Karel got up, walked over and tugged the hair on the back of her head, forcing her to look at him. The Nephilim had icy and dead eyes. That relentless gaze drilled into her mind, probing every corner of her brain, and checked how loyal this servant was to him. Giselle felt trapped in the whirlwind of feelings produced by that glance: attraction, repulsion, attraction, repulsion...

“All projects and experiments will be cancelled,” Karel repeated. “You _won't_ take my chance anymore. There's too much at stake. The Amazon will provide me the offspring for the High Breed.” Then he released her with the same brutality. She rubbed her sore scalp. “As soon as she gets the artefact at the stronghold of Al-Fayoum,” he continued, “I’ll bring her here and I want you to have everything ready, for you'll be the one who will be in charge of her until I solve all this mess.” And then, he pointed to the door.

The scientist stood up and walked out, furious and humiliated. She had been one of the few members who approved of the new _Meister_. Eckhardt had always inspired in her feelings of disgust; his morbid cruelty seemed unworthy to her. On the contrary, almost from the first moment she’d seen the blonde man working in the shadow of the Black Alchemist, she’d adored him. When Eckhardt died and Karel revealed his true condition, she couldn't help but love him. Yes, she loved an immortal being.

Unfortunately for her, he was an immortal being completely incapable of love.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, you want to fight, do you? Well, let's do it.” Lara jumped forward and swiftly slammed a kick to the skeleton’s shield. The creature stumbled back and almost fell, but regained its balance. She kicked it again, and then again, until he fell to the floor. “I'm tired of meeting guys like you everywhere,” Lara said while trampling the bony arm. “You already gave me enough trouble in the Hall of Seasons. Don’t you ever get tired? Look, here comes your friend.” _The friend_ was a second skeleton standing behind her and raising his rusty sword over the British explorer's head. She, spinning gracefully in the air, beheaded it with a kick.

It had been half an hour since she had gone into the stronghold. After nimbly eluding the booby traps that protected it - they were very well designed, she had to give that to the Lux Veritatis - now she was wasting her precious time fighting some deceased warriors who wouldn't let her focus on her task.

Lara stopped to catch her breath, looking at the skeletons writhing on the floor, and then turned to study the map that was painted on the wall of the grey, empty room. No doubt: it was a picture of the various hallways in the underground complex. The place was a maze; she could spend hours wandering around the corridors and kicking annoying skeletons without getting anywhere in particular. She took paper and pencil from her backpack and began to copy the map as quickly as she could.

“Leave me alone,” she murmured to the skeleton who was relentlessly getting up and heading back to her again with its sword raised. By the time the creature was next to her, she moved away. The blade hit the wall and broke. “See?” Lara said, without looking up from the map she was drawing, “you’re annoying.” The skeleton looked at the broken blade, confused. The other, moving with irritating slowness, began to slide towards her. “Are all Lux Veritatis so annoying?” She asked with a sarcastic grin, “I’ll have to consult Kurtis about that.”

She saved the map and ducked a new thrust, then kicked the skeleton again and made him roll on the ground. “Well guys, nice to chat with you but I'm out of time. Bye,” Lara said cheerfully, and walked away across one of the tunnels.

If all went well, the path would lead to a kind of ritual room with a stone altar. At least, it would be _something_ to start with.

 

* * *

 

Kurtis went into the stronghold two hours later, as previously arranged. Lara had wondered how he would dodge the booby traps, which he found cute. Indeed, she was the specialist in that field and he was much less agile, but he wasn’t a cripple. He could handle them.

Luckily, he didn’t need to. The traps didn't react to his presence. The razors remained immobile, no stone fell on him, and no chopper ready to cut him into pieces showed up. He peacefully passed between the motionless spikes and sharp blades.

Maybe there was a failure in the stronghold engineering, and not merely luck. Some hinges were even squeaky and he saw traces of Lara's footprints on the ground...and on the wall. The British explorer had side-jumped to dodge the traps, which meant they were still functioning.

Of course, the traps were not being _respectful_ to Kurtis without a reason. The answer was in a tiny room, empty except for a map painted on the wall and two confused skeletons, one headless and the other looking at his broken sword. When noticing Kurtis, they turned to him and bowed in reverence, even the headless one.

_Welcome, brother._

Their voices sounded like they were said _aloud_ , but it was just in his mind. As he felt stupid answering to a couple walking pile of bones, he simply nodded and walked towards the map. The skeletons waited in silence. There was no reason to attack a member of their Order, neither to prevent him from entering nor from exiting.

_Looking for the Amazon’s grave, aren’t you, brother?_

Kurtis turned and watched with suspicion the grinning skull with empty eye sockets.

_We can lead the way. But we cannot go beyond. Our mission was to protect the entrance and we failed. An intruder has challenged and defiled the sanctity of the stronghold._

“That was Lara,” Kurtis replied with a grin.

The skeletons sounded still more confused. _Are you going to tolerate the intruder’s presence?_

“She's the new Amazon,” Kurtis said.

That seemed to convince those sad remains of knights died centuries ago. _So there’s no reason to block her path. Once, an Amazon came to us. Now she has returned. Follow us, brother._

Kurtis went into the room. The skeletons stopped at the edge of the entrance, as the place was restricted for them. Other forces were on guard there.

The chamber was large and circular, like most Lux Veritatis' strongholds. There was a sarcophagus in the centre, a structure carved in ivory. The cover, beautifully shaped, depicted the recumbent figure of a young woman. Kurtis recognized her: she was Loanna.

The beautiful statue’s eyes were closed and her lips parted in a sad smile. The clothes were luxurious and some delicate edges of the dress slid down the edges of the cover, and her hair was scattered on the pillow. It was hard to believe there could be a more beautiful sculpture. She seemed about to get up at any moment.

He walked around the grave, watching it carefully. There was an inscription at the girl’s feet:

**HIC DORMIT LOANNA VON SKOPF**

_**Vanitas vanitatum…et omnia vanitas** _

_Here lies Loanna Von Skopf. Vanity of vanities, all is vanity._ Throughout the sarcophagus carved motifs were repeated: the scythe and hourglass.

Loanna was there, in her eternal sleep, her beauty intact and immortalized in the cold ivory. The inscription, however, considered her beauty a vanity with few hours of existence, as ironic and cruel as the _Omnia vulnerant_ in Bran's tapestry.

Suddenly, Kurtis felt that sensation again: the choking, the breathlessness, just the same as in Brasov's castle. The presence of someone who wanted to speak to him through the echoes of the past.

He sat next to the grave. “Tell me,” he said, looking at Loanna’s ivory face. “I’m listening.”

 

* * *

 

_He was in a dark room, dimly lit by several torches. In the centre was a round table at which twenty men were seated, some of them wearing a kind of monk’s habit, others dressed in armour. The Lux Veritatis._

_There was a woman in the room, but she was to the side, sitting in a small throne higher than the rest. She was Loanna, and her pregnancy was well advanced. She was staring into the void, pale and limply clinging to the armrests._

_One of the knights banged the table with his fist._ _“_ _This can only bring us trouble!” He shouted. “Why do we have to take such a risk?”_

 _An elder who was one of those dressed as a monk, whom all the others seemed to respect, said with a frown:_ _“_ _Say it clearly, Limoux: you want us to kill this woman.”_

_Loanna didn’t react. She kept staring at nothing with apathy._

“ _She is carrying a Nephilim in her womb!” Limoux yelled, “we cannot give that thing the chance to be born!”_

“ _And to avoid that you suggest to shed the blood of this innocent girl,” replied the old monk. “Have you forgotten by chance that our mission is precisely to protect the victims of the Nephilim?”_

“ _Our mission is to destroy the Nephilim!” Limoux's voice was getting hoarse. “And there is a Nephilim!” He concluded, pointing to Loanna’s swollen belly._

_That was enough for her. She got up as if driven by a spring, descended from the little throne and walked proudly to the door._

_One of the knights rose to cut her way off._ _“_ _You are not going anywhere.”_

“ _Then give me a blade and I will kill myself,” she said, her voice cold and sharp. “If I am such a nuisance, it’s better to disappear from your lives as soon as possible.”_

 _The old man sighed._ _“_ _We don’t want you dead, Loanna.”_

“ _But you also don't want me alive, do you, Grand Master?” She replied. Her cheeks were burning. “It is a miracle I have escaped my confinement in Bran. I have been chased both on land and by sea. I have suffered countless dangers and setbacks. I have done everything possible and impossible to get here, to your stronghold...I, who am alone and pregnant, I who am a woman in a world of men and a Christian in the land of infidels. I have arrived here alive by a miracle! My only hope was to put myself under your protection...but I see what kind of protection you are going to give me.” She turned her head violently and took a step forward, but again the knight blocked her way._

“ _While you are here_ _no one will hurt you,” the Grand Master stated. “This I swear by my honour as a Lux Veritatis. We will wait until the childbirth and then...” His voice broke._

“ _I'll finish it myself,” Loanna said flatly._

_The council members looked at each other, stunned._

“ _Can we trust her?” Limoux added, who insisted on behaving as if she was not present._

“ _Of course,” she said, looking at him with contempt. “No one is so eager to end this as I am.”_

_And then she left the place without anyone to prevent it this time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image chapter by Adayka.


	14. Loanna's Sacrifice

** **

_The images rushed before him and the scene changed. This time it was a small dark room. The Grand Master and Loanna were talking, while she lit up the darkness with a torch._

“ _The expedition we sent to Cappadocia has succeeded,” said the old man, this time dressed in armour. “The Nephilim were destroyed.”_

“ _But how's that possible?”_

“ _They were mired in a kind of lethargy. It was easy to annihilate them.”_

“ _Then the only one left is Drakul!” She said, crossing herself to protect from the evil the very act of pronouncing that name evoked._

 _The Grand Master frowned._ _“_ _I wish it was that simple, child. One of them ran away. We found his hole empty. Anyway, this is not the issue that worries me now.” He went to a chest in the corner and pulled out a velvet pouch containing a spherical object, a beautiful blue crystal sphere, carved with strange symbols._

“ _We call it the Periapt,” he said. “Actually, we are ignorant of where it’s from. Our Order has always owned it. But we noticed this crystal is able to kill a Nephilim if it’s wielded by a member of our Order. By any other person, it has no effect on these creatures.”_

_Loanna took the Periapt with trembling hands._

“ _Fear not, daughter, it cannot be broken.” And he sharply swatted the orb out of her hands and it fell to the ground. Loanna shouted when it shattered, but almost instantly, the pieces gathered together and the sphere was again intact._

“ _Pick_ _it up, child.”_

 _She shook her head, terrified._ _“_ _This is demonic magic!”_

“ _No, my child. That's the power of angels. This crystal already existed when the Order was born, and will remain when the last of our brothers dies. The Periapt is made of a heavenly material that can kill an immortal being.” Seeing that Loanna was reluctant to touch the Periapt, the Grand Master picked it up and put it back into the velvet bag._ _“_ _From this Periapt three crystal pieces were taken and carved into three daggers, which we call the Periapt Shards. With them, our warriors have been able to kill the fallen angels. Now our fight is focused elsewhere. We must destroy Drakul, find the Nephilim who escaped and…and kill your son.”_

“ _That thing is not my son,” Loanna said coldly. “That thing is a creation of its father. I had nothing to do with it.”_

 _He nodded._ _“_ _The Periapt is our most valuable possession. It must never fall into enemy hands. Recently we learned that a cult has emerged and supports the Nephilim. They call themselves the Cabal.”_

 _Loanna frowned._ _“_ _Jews?”_

“ _No, my child. Some are priests. Others are doctors. They’re guided by a man named Pieter Van Eckhardt, who calls himself The Black Alchemist.”_

 _She sighed._ _“_ _Evil blossoms and makes its way.”_

 _Suddenly, a knight arrived on the run, sweating profusely._ _“_ _Grand Master!” He gasped. “The Impaler is here in Egypt! He has used his alliances with the Turks to get to the Amazon!”_

_The news made Loanna go weak in the knees and she stumbled. The warrior caught her before she fell to the ground._

“ _We will see that,” said the Grand Master. “Let us face them. Let the Nephilim know who the Lux Veritatis are.” He drew his sword and kissed the hilt._ _“_ _For this they will know! Bring together all our brothers. It's time to fight.”_

 

* * *

 

 _Once again, Kurtis was dragged to another time in a different place. This time to a rectangular chamber, empty except for a stone altar. Loanna arrived running, her clothes having been torn to rags, her hair loose. She closed the door and bolted it, visibly terrified._ _“_ _Dead...” she muttered, panting. “All of them...it's my fault!”_

 _She turned to the altar, carrying the Periapt and a bloodstained dagger. She stumbled onward, tripped over the shreds of her skirt and fell to her knees, while convulsively pressing the Periapt against her chest._ _“_ _Don’t let them find the Periapt...” she murmured. “Don’t let them find the Periapt!”_

_With the dagger in hand, she knelt and fitted the edge of the blade under the lip of a stone tile. She pried it up and dug a shallow hole in the dirt underneath, and threw the Periapt into the hole. Then she covered it with dirt and adjusted the tile back in its place._

_At that moment the door vibrated with a thunderous roar, and a strong voice yelled:_ _“_ _Open, Loanna! Your game is over!”_

_It was Vlad Tepes._

_Loanna arose trembling and shakily holding the dagger. Despite her condition, she was able to fight, but what could a simple dagger do against a Nephilim?_

_Then she took a deep breath...and suddenly calmed down. She stopped shaking and walked resolutely towards the stone altar. She stood in front of it, still looking towards the door, and she stabbed herself in the belly, plunging the blade to the handle. A trail of blood sprang forward and splashed the floor while soaking her clothes. She gasped._

_Kurtis knew the piercing and burning pain she was suffering. He had felt that in his own flesh, and the memory made him shiver._

_From that point on, the events hastened. Loanna fell on the steps of the altar. The door exploded into pieces and two men entered the room when the woman, with her last strength, pulled the dagger out of her body and let it fall aside._

_One was Vlad Tepes, who watched with horror at the scene. The other was Karel himself, in armour, with amazingly long hair. He ran to the failing Loanna and lifted her chin._ _“_ _What have you done, stupid mortal?”_

 _Loanna looked at him with glassy eyes and stammered:_ _“_ _You’ve lost...you won’t have neither your cursed offspring... nor me.” Those were her last words. After a couple of spasms, she vomited a gush of blood and remained motionless, staring into the void._

“ _Dead,” Karel announced. “Both her and the baby.” And kicked the body, making it rolling down the steps._

_The last thing Kurtis heard before losing contact was the wretched cry of anger and frustration that Vlad the Impaler let out._

 

* * *

 

The first thing Lara saw was Kurtis sitting at the foot of a sarcophagus made of ivory. “Well, well,” she said, “here I'm doing all the dirty work and Mr. Trent is having a rest...” But she stopped to take a closer look.

Kurtis was panting, gasping for air, a hand on his heart and the other clinging to the sculpture, as if having ran hundreds of miles and not able to take a step further.

“You okay?” She said kneeling beside him.

He looked at her and, for a moment, he didn't seem to recognize her, his eyes bloodshot and his forehead beaded with sweat. Then he rubbed his face and whispered: “It's nothing.”

“Really?” She said, holding out a hand. He took it and rose with her help. He then felt his legs were asleep and that made him stumble, but he managed to stay on his feet, half resting on the sarcophagus, half on her. “Too much time away...” he kept muttering, “I should go back before...”

Lara looked at him, confused. She had an idea about what he meant, but it was _definitely_ weird. “Have you found anything?” They both asked at the same time.

“Well...” Lara said, smiling, “nothing interesting apart from some booby traps and a couple of boring skeletons.” She looked at the sarcophagus. “Well, well,” she examined the recumbent's face. “Magnificent. The best museums in the world would pay astronomical amounts for this wonder. Too bad I can't put her in my backpack,” she concluded with a laugh.

Kurtis was now feeling better. He walked around the tomb. “Any other remarkable stuff?”

“Bah, just an empty room with a stone altar,” she said with a shrug.

“Show me.”

 

* * *

 

Yes, it was there, no doubt. The same steps, the same altar. Old blood stains... Kurtis examined the tile floor and crouched down to one. He removed it and began to dig in the dirt.

Lara watched him in silence. He'd already told her everything he'd seen...and actually, it _was_ _n't_ a very encouraging story. But at least they were on the right track. At least they knew what they came here for.

“Here it is,” Kurtis said as he pulled out an old threadbare velvet bag, from where he removed a beautiful carved crystal sphere and handed it to Lara, before wiping his hands on his pants.

“The Periapt,” she said. “The orb from which the three Shards were carved...” And without warning, she slammed it against the wall. Kurtis winced. The pieces fell to the ground, moved toward each other and joined, leaving the Periapt intact again. “Incredible,” Lara muttered, her eyes wide open. “It’s true...it can't be broken.”

“Actually, it can’t _remain_ broken,” Kurtis said, picking it up. Then, amused at Lara’s amazed face, he added, “I guess the best museums in the world couldn't afford this wonder either, don'tcha think, Miss Croft?”

Lara slowly nodded her head. “Agreed.”

 

* * *

 

They had returned to Loanna’s tomb.

“Then she committed suicide to avoid being abducted again, and with her died the unborn child,” Lara said, “It's tragic...”

“Karel was the Nephilim who escaped the slaughter at Cappadocia. Drakul joined him, but for some reason Karel then decided to infiltrate the Cabal so he could manipulate Eckhardt at his will, without him knowing,” Kurtis said. “But then...how did the Sleeper survive?”

Lara looked at the Periapt's symbols. “I don't know...perhaps your brothers missed it.”

“No way. A Lux Veritatis wouldn’t fail at that.”

“Oook,” she said, wincing. “About the Periapt...if it can't stay broken, then the three Shards share this quality. Too bad I had to leave them stuck in Eckhardt’s corpse.”

“Karel must have them,” he said. “Anyway, what matters now is the Periapt.”

Lara carefully examined it. “I think I've an idea of what this could be...but I must study it further.”

Then a feared, hateful voice rang in the room. “Don't bother yourself, beauty,” said Karel, “I'll do that.”

 

* * *

 

Lara and Kurtis turned sharply. She pressed the Periapt against her chest in an instinctive gesture. There, between two arches, leaning against a column, was him, his expression looking calm and showing a serene smile. “Give me the Periapt,” he said.

Lara frowned. “It’s not yours. Doesn’t belong to you.”

Karel widened his smile. “Interesting that a thief like yourself would say such a thing. A person who spent all her life stealing and looting everywhere.” He separated from the column and began to walk towards them. “In fact it's you whom doesn't own the Periapt...or anything at all that you've taken all these years. You think you can just go anywhere and say ‘ _this is mine’_ ? You think you can take what you please just because you've found it?” He laughed. “No, Lara Croft. Maybe you've done that so far...but this time it's over. This time I'll be the one to take you... _my Amazon.”_

The last words sounded like a lash. Lara unwittingly shuddered and stepped back, but didn't stop looking at him defiantly. Kurtis, however, didn't move an inch. He'd been quietly studying his opponent. He turned his face towards Lara and exchanged a glance with her. She understood immediately.

Lara pursed her lips and jumped back, performed a somersault over the tomb and landed on the other side in a split second. Then she turned around and went towards the door.

But she didn’t go too far. Suddenly, the exit faded and she found herself facing a bare, impenetrable wall. Frustrated, she turned and saw the same had happened to the other doors. The room was sealed.

“A good trick,” said Karel. “One of the first a Nephilim child learns to do.” Then he repeated, relentlessly: “Give me the Periapt.”

Lara responded defiantly: “You'll have to kill me.”

“Of course,” corroborated Karel. “But not until you've served my purpose.” He stepped towards her, surrounding the tomb, but then Kurtis cut his way off without uttering a word. His facial expression was completely inscrutable.

“I’ll take care of you...as I took care of your father,” Karel said, squinting. “Move away.”

“Nope,” Kurtis said with a grin, and then put a hand on his belt and caressed the Chirugai.

Karel tightened his jaws in anger. The curse between them prevented him from killing his opponent, as that would mean sentencing himself...but who said it was necessary to kill him? “Fine. You asked for it.” He charged slowly, shapeshifting into his real Nephilim's semblance: greyish skin furrowed with dark streaks, white hair, black eyes spotted with bright white pupils, his body wrapped by a faint green glow and slightly raising over the ground.

Then he attacked. Kurtis jumped aside to dodge the lightning. The energy hit the sarcophagus and made it vibrate. He threw the Chirugai, but Karel avoided it with a quick spin in the air.

Lara groped the wall. She had saved the Periapt in her backpack and was now looking for the missing door. According to Karel, it was a mere optical illusion, so the exit must be still there...she just couldn't see it.

A new energy beam fell nearby. Kurtis had avoided it very quickly and after catching the Chirugai in its flight, extended a hand. The invisible force departed from him and projected Karel against a pillar, making him slip to the ground.

“Dammit...” Lara murmured, as she dragged her fingers against the wall. “Where’s the bloody door?”

Karel rose again and fought back. He hit Kurtis this time and knocked him down to the floor.

“ _Eureka_!” Lara shouted, and grabbed an invisible latch. She tugged it and began to open the wall. Suddenly, a shock shook her from head to toe and slammed her to the ground. The blow left her breathless.

Karel's voice hissed in her ear: “Game over, beauty.”

Lara tried to get up, but a new charge paralysed her. Karel tugged and pulled her by the braid to force her to look at him. She saw her face reflected in the unfathomable eyes of that eternal and immortal being.

Then she heard a whistle. Karel howled in pain and released her, stumbling backward. Lara looked at him horrified, noticing the Chirugai plunged into his left side, deeply imbedded in his flesh. Karel snatched it with a pull and threw it down. A gush of white fluid – Nephilim's blood - poured from the thick wound.

He looked up and saw Kurtis kneeling in front of him, staring at him with hate. Karel, blinded by anger and pain, sent a last attack that crashed him against the sarcophagus.

The Nephilim rose, panting. He staggered a few steps and grabbed his bleeding side. “You're mad, Lux Veritatis!” He gurgled. _“Mad!”_ And he vanished in the air.

Lara ran towards Kurtis, who lay sprawled next to Loanna’s grave. She tried to lift him up, but he refused her help and sat, leaning his back against the sarcophagus. The impact with the ivory tomb had opened a deep gash on his head and half of his face was drenched in bright red blood.

“Kurtis...” Lara whispered, extending a hand to swipe away strands of his bloodied hair. He gently pushed her hand away and rested his head against the tomb, staining the white ivory with his blood. “Let me enjoy this glorious moment,” he sighed, closing his eyes.

Lara looked at him, speechless. Undoubtedly, the blow had affected his brain. She didn't notice that Kurtis had just fulfilled every Lux Veritatis' dream: to see fear in the eyes of a Nephilim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by the flawless Adayka.


	15. Putai

It was getting dark when they left the stronghold. The return trip had been easy, with the skeletons leading the way, though Lara felt awkward about following a bunch of bones who treated Kurtis with great respect, and was mostly miffed when she noticed the traps didn't react to his presence. She commented about taking Kurtis everywhere from then on to avoid booby-traps and also something about her work no longer having any intrigue or passion.

The sunlight blinded their eyes when they came out. Jean, who was there leading the excavators, ran towards them: “How did it go? _Sacr_ _é_ _bleu!”_ He said, looking at Kurtis. “What happened, _Monsieur_ Trent?” Kurtis had half of his face black with clotted blood.

“Occupational hazards,” said Lara. “Is the infirmary already set up?”

“Yes, by there.”

Upon entering the stronghold, they had left behind a wasteland devastated by the _sirocco_ , but now there was a real camp.

Kurtis refused help and began to tend to himself. He wiped off the crusted blood and examined the wound. It was pretty ugly, swollen and bruised above his left temple. “Another string of stitches,” he muttered, annoyed, looking at it in the mirror.

“Let me help you,” Lara said, approaching him.

He turned and waved her off with his hand. “Hold it right there, Miss Croft. You’re pretty competent as a partner, but as a nurse you’re terrible. I had enough of your ‘help’ at Brasov.” He turned back towards the mirror, wet a cotton swab in alcohol and applied it to the wound. Before Jean's horrified eyes, he began to sew the gash himself without even flinching.

“Wow, that is one tough guy,” Jean said quietly to Lara.

She frowned and responded disdainfully: “Yes, _really_ tough.” Then she turned and left the tent.

 

* * *

 

Lara caressed the Periapt while copying its symbols on a piece of paper. They were neither letters nor hieroglyphics, just a messy map of signs with no relation between them: mystical, religious, natural... An Egyptian Ankh. An Isis’ Knot. Horus' Eye. The Christian cross. The Muslim crescent. The Chinese Ying and Yang. The Lux Veritatis' anchor. The symbols of the pagan gods: Mars, Venus, Jupiter, Mercury...the Jewish star. The Hindi Eye. The Illuminati’s triangle. The swastika of the Celts. Lucifer's pentacle.

The symbols were endless and different, such a fascinating mixture that Lara felt puzzled. For the first time in her life she had in her hands an artefact depicting the symbols of all religions, cults, and myths ever existed on Earth.

She closed her eyes, overwhelmed. Kurtis was right: there was no fortune in the world large enough to buy such a magnificent object. A perfect, universal orb. An indestructible artefact. A crystal able to kill angels...

“Where did you come from?” She whispered, stroking its rough surface. It was the dream of every archaeologist and tomb raider. It was _her_ dream. The most beautiful device which had ever existed.

A sound took her out of her meditations. Kurtis had just lifted the canvas' tent. “May I enter?”

Lara nodded and left the pencil on the scribbled papers. Apparently, Kurtis had been able to heal his wound correctly. He wore a cotton patch on his forehead. “I know you're angry.”

“Great,” she said, glaring at him. “By the way, I'd also like to know _why on earth_ you had to risk yourself like that. You almost killed Karel with your flying blade.”

Kurtis smiled calmly. “I won't have that monster, under _an_ y circumstances, take something so beautiful and precious from me.”

“I wouldn’t have let him steal the Periapt!” Lara jumped.

Kurtis looked at her with his piercing blue eyes. “I’m _no_ t talking about the Periapt.”

Lara felt a wave of heat rise throughout her body. “You're mad,” she said, looking away.

“Just what he said.”

“And he’s right!” She yelled, turning to look at him. “You could have died!”

“So what?”

Lara blinked, confused. _“_ _So what,_ you say? You mean you don’t care?” She jumped to her feet. Her anger was increasing. “If I'd known you didn’t give a single fuck about your own life, Mr. Trent, I wouldn't have gone to so much trouble to solve this mess! So next time you see Karel, you can cut him into pieces if you want and die with him! Less hassle for me!”

She walked towards the exit, but Kurtis grabbed her arm. Lara pursed her lips and hissed: “Let me go.”

“Not before listening to me.”

“Don't make me hit you.”

“I won’t give you the chance.”

“Ah-ah!” She said, raising her chin. “You might have caught me off guard at the Louvre, but that doesn't mean you can...”

“I know what I can and what I cannot do,” Kurtis said. “Will you stop acting like a brat?”

Lara's eyes threw sparks. She reflected a moment and then pulled away Kurtis' hand and crossed her arms over her chest. “Ok. I’m listening.”

Kurtis sighed. “Lara, I _really_ appreciate your help. But you can’t understand. I’ve been dealing with this my entire life. But you? Just since a month ago. So far you've proven to be really skilled in handling this, in fact, I can’t help but admire you. Experience has shown me I wasn't wrong when I trusted you and left you leeway to defeat Eckhardt.” He walked to the desk and looked at her papers. “But this time the issue is more serious and terrible than you can imagine. I appreciate your interest, I thank you for answering my call and I thank you for each time you were by my side, cuz I know if you don't discover the True Option, nobody will, and neither will I.” He stared at her. “That’s why I'll be with you and we'll go on looking for the clue together, I assure you.”

“Then, why...?”

He raised a hand to silence her. “It may seem that when I saw Karel I lost my mind, blinded by hatred or something, and I thought only of revenge. Not at all. I was perfectly aware of what could happen to me if I killed him. But I _simply couldn't_ waste that chance. It's _so_ rare to be underestimated by a demon to get enough advantage to hurt him. If I hadn't been so exhausted, I’d have halved him right then and there,” he shrugged. “Instead, I failed. Now he’s angry and won’t underestimate me again. Too bad.”

“But...your life...”

“My life's _not_ important. What really mattered at that moment was to destroy him, or at least prevent him from taking the Periapt...and you.”

Lara looked at him in silence. That philosophy was totally incomprehensible to her. One had to cling to life if they had a chance. And Kurtis _had_ a chance. Having a True Option...why should he die?

“You're right,” she said, “I _can't_ understand. But at least I hope next time you won't engage in a duel to the death, at least not until we find the damn clue.”

“I promise,” he smiled.

“Truthfully, you've been quite impressive,” she said, looking askance at him.

Kurtis laughed. “C'mon! Did you see how pissed he was?”

 

* * *

 

The next day was harsh. Jean and his workers wanted to enter the stronghold, but Kurtis refused. The place was sacred and he wouldn't have them looting, plundering, and defiling Loanna’s tomb. There was a riot and the workers stormed the stronghold, but came running back with their tails between their legs when the first booby trap activated. Lara yelled until she was hoarse, kicked a few unruly workers, and locked herself in her tent to study the Periapt.

“Dear Lara, we can't leave without seeing the grave...” Jean complained. “We’re archaeologists! Please, try to understand, my dear, if all persons were like your friend, Tutankhamen would remain forgotten and nobody would've uncovered the Sphinx.”

“I know, but he’s right. Anyway, if you can pass through the traps and a couple of undying knights...”

Jean shuddered. “Could you convince him? You said both the guards and the traps obey him...”

“There’s no time for that,” she cut him off. “Give me a hand with this, Jean. I'm tired of going in circles.”

The Periapt had her more and more fascinated. She'd copied, grouped, and classified all symbols, written down everything she knew about them...and all she'd achieved was even more convoluted gibberish.

“Well, dear, I'm an Egyptologist, not an expert in symbolism,” he said, examining the stacks of papers, “so I don't see any connection here. There’s a lack of information...and I’m afraid this orb is so overtaxed.”

“But the Golden Seal hasn't changed. It still shows us this place.”

“Maybe you missed something, or you went to the wrong place.”

“No way,” she said, throwing a pencil and clenching her fists. “This place is perfect! Where could we have gone wrong?”

Jean began to review the endless list of symbols. “The True Option...” he muttered. At that moment he was interrupted by a scream.

Lara and Jean ran out of the tent and found the workers running and pointing back. There, marked on the horizon, were several rows of riders enveloped in white robes, waiting in silence. In front of them seemed to be the leader, wrapped in a large black cloak. All were armed.

“ _Mon Dieu,”_ Jean gasped, terrified.

Kurtis had appeared, and made a gesture to get the gun. “No,” said Lara, and prevented him. “They don’t come to attack us. They’re _Medjai.”_

“Med-what?” Kurtis said.

“ _Medjai_. North Bedouin people. I'll talk to the chief.”

Lara walked toward the rows of riders. People in the camp had gathered around Jean and Kurtis and looked frightened at the nomads.

The leader looked at the woman as she approached. Kurtis, however, quietly drew his gun and kept it hidden under his arm. A single act of hostility towards Lara...and bye bye, leader.

“ _Salam alaikum,”_ greeted Lara. “Why did you come so far from your land?”

“Times are harsh,” said the black figure, with a soft and warm voice. “I'm glad to see you again, Lara Croft.”

She blinked, surprised, recognizing the voice. “Putai? Is that you?”

The leader uncovered her face. She was a woman.

 

* * *

 

That evening, both nomads and workers dined together. Certain members of the expedition felt pretty suspicious of those armed-to-the-teeth Arabs, but they weren't hostile at all.

“It's been a long time,” Putai said, seated next to Lara around a campfire, “I thought I wouldn’t see you again, Tomb Raider.”

The Bedouin woman was a shaman and unlike her peers, was not Arab but rather Ethiopian. Her skin was dark as ebony, she had very long black hair braided in a complex hairstyle decorated with colourful beads. She wore a robe as dark as her skin and she was carrying a wooden staff. The most fascinating thing about her were her eyes, green as emeralds, framed by henna tattoos. No individual of her kin had those eyes.

“What happened, Putai?” Lara said. “You were the shaman of your tribe, not its leader.”

“My father died a few months ago,” she explained, speaking in French with a strong Arabic accent. “My brother was killed two weeks ago by the fundamentalists. I've assumed his leadership.”

Lara didn't know what surprised her the most, the Bedouin having accepted the command of a woman or Putai, so peaceful and spiritual, having consented to taking a role involving fighting and power.

After dinner, people retreated to their tents. Finally, there was only one fire alone in the camp. Around it gathered Putai, Jean, and Lara. Kurtis, in accordance with his habit, sat somewhat apart from the others, smoking in silence but still listening to the conversation.

“How did you meet?” Jean asked the Bedouin.

“I found her wounded in the Great Tomb of the Ancient King.”

“She means Cheops’ Pyramid,” Lara said, seeing the Egyptologist’s confused face.

“Then it was her who rescued you!” Said the Frenchman. “What happened?”

“If Lara doesn't mind...” Putai said politely.

She shrugged. She had spent two years silent because of the media, but now she was among friends.

So Putai began her story.

 

* * *

 

_It was a January afternoon. Putai and her father had ridden to the Great Tomb of the Ancient King, which the Westerners called "pyramid". There, hidden behind a dune, a team of archaeologists were working hard. An elderly man with a limp, dressed in white, was leading them._

“ _Look at those thieves plundering the holy places again,” grunted Putai._

“ _No, daughter. This time they’re trying to find a missing explorer,” the old leader said, pointing towards the crippled man. “That's Werner Von Croy. He’s trying to rescue a former protégé, Lara Croft.”_

 _Putai spat on the ground to ward off evil spirits. His father did the same._ _“_ _The woman who freed Seth!”_

“ _Yes, my daughter. For those people there's nothing sacred.”_

“ _Then let her remain buried! She must pay the price for her profanation!”_

“ _Seems that’s_ _what they're doing. Look at that,” her father said._

_Indeed, the camp was being uprooted. Operators were collecting tents and materials and carrying them back into the Jeeps._

_Von Croy was standing in front of the pyramid. He pressed a dusty backpack in his hands, his face expression showing deep sorrow and dejection._

“ _Come, child. They have left her for dead.”_

“ _Yes, father. Let those Westerners take care of their affairs.”_

 

* * *

 

_The young shaman never came to know what prompted her to return to the pyramid. Maybe the earth spirits, who spoke to her in dreams. Maybe the compassion inspired by the old cripple's look. Maybe his sorrowful face, like the one of a father who'd lost his daughter. Maybe the warmth and longing with which he gripped that backpack. Maybe his mourning when they took him away._

_Anyway, the next night Putai entered the underground tunnels of the Great Pyramid. Her Bedouin eyes were able to guide her in the dark, a faithful ally of her people for generations._

_She reached the end of the tunnel dig, set by Von Croy.'s team. Then she started to remove stones, until her robe was torn; her arms were injured, but she still didn't stop for a while. When she cleared the tunnel she was dirty with dust and soaked with sweat. But she didn’t stop trying. She struggled to unearth the opening and dragged on despite that she’d begun to feel a kind of claustrophobia - she who'd been raised by people always living outdoors and whose only shelter was that of the corpses when buried in the sand._

_When she believed she wouldn't be able to go on, she saw her._

_The explorer was a dark shape lying half-buried in the dark, looking like a broken doll, her arms and legs twisted at impossible angles, dirty with dust and soaked with blood._

_Putai crawled to her and pulled her hair away, uncovering her face. She'd a swollen eye, her lips and face covered in cuts and scrapes, the skin had a greyish hue._

“ _What should I do?” Putai said to the empty darkness. “She’s dead. Take her to her people? Leave her here?”_

_The last option was the easiest, but she nevertheless grabbed her leg and started pulling her. Almost instantly the wounded woman screamed and convulsed in pain._

“ _Allahu akbar!” Gasped Putai. “She's alive!”_

_The Western woman opened her eyes and tried to speak, but her mouth was dry and full of sand. Putai took a tiny jar of water from her tattered robe and brought it to the woman’s chapped lips. She made a concerted effort to swallow the water, then she dropped her head again, exhausted._

“ _Lara Croft?” Tried Putai._

_She nodded slowly._

“ _I should let you die,” Putai said then, speaking more to herself than to Lara. “You freed Seth. You brought evil to Egypt.”_

“ _No...” said Lara then, speaking with a gurgle, “I fixed my mistake...he’s locked up again...” Then she experienced a brutal coughing fit and winced in pain, struggling to keep still with her broken ribs as every movement was torture._

_Putai looked at her in silence. Her wounds were serious but not fatal: nothing that her wisdom couldn't heal. If she rescued her from that place, she’d live. If she left her there, she’d die._

“ _This is it_ _. Allah has left her to me.”_

 _It was useless to try to move her, so she began to retreat. The injured woman glanced at her desperately. The Bedouin said:_ _“_ _Don't worry. I won't leave you. I will return with help. I'll get you out of here. Hold on.”_

_And she returned. They got Lara out of there. Putai took her into her tent and became responsible for her cure and care. Months passed before she could walk again. By the fifth month her bones were positively healed, but she'd lost her agility. She limped, looking rather crippled like Von Croy, unable to move for long distances. She took long to be again what she used to be._

_Some Western doctors had hardly believed that healing wisdom of a nomadic and primitive tribe could heal such bad injuries, but the fact is that Lara fully recovered. She and Putai became friends. They rode together through the desert and were together from that time. The Bedouin taught her to live with her people, their wisdom and tradition. As for Lara, she told her experiences throughout the world and taught her to speak French, since it was the second official language of Egypt._

“ _I've to return to England,” Lara said one day. “My people still believe I'm dead.”_

“ _That crippled old man...Von Croy...” Putai hesitated._

“ _Once he was my teacher and mentor...now he’s my worst enemy.”_

“ _But he tried to find you.”_

“ _H_ _e abandoned me,” Lara made a sneer. “He’s a traitor. He came so close to me. I could hear his voice but I hadn’t the strength to call him. He stole my backpack and left.”_

_Furious, she spat to one side. She'd been so long among the nomads that she was now used to mimicking this particular gesture to show one’s distaste when mentioning something or someone who brought them bad memories._

_Putai wanted to tell her that Von Croy had not abandoned her, that he was forced to leave. That his grief had been real. But she knew about the power of hatred, and her friend was full of hate._

_Lara would never forgive._

 

* * *

 

“I still remember the day you returned from the dead,” Jean said when Putai finished. “We were celebrating a memorial in your honour.”

“Who had the brilliant idea of carving that _hideous_ statue of mine?” Lara said.

Jean shrugged. “I think it was Father Dunstan.”

They laughed remembering that moment. Lara went running into the chapel and interrupted the service. Winston almost had a heart attack and Lara’s parents were slow to recover from the shock. As for Father Dunstan, he always said from that time on Lara’s return was due to his prayers, though at the moment he saw her he sprinkled her with holy water, as if she was a ghost. After all, she'd been missing for months.

“Did you solve the differences with your mentor in the end?” Putai asked then.

Lara shook her head. “He was murdered. That's why I'm here, stuck in the greatest mess of my life, being the main suspect of his murder and with the police investigating me.”

“But he never told you why he left?” Jean said.

“He had no time. Everything happened too fast. At first I wasn't even sure if I'd killed him myself. In any case, it doesn't matter anymore.”

Suddenly, Putai said: “What about you, Demon Hunter?”

Kurtis looked up, surprised. He'd already realized it was a Bedouin habit to nickname everything, but the coincidence was too blatant. “How’d you know _that_?”

“My people still tell tales about the days when your kin lived in the stronghold. I can recognize a warrior when I see one. And you've been through many battles.”

Lara and Jean were staring at him. So much attention unnerved him, as he was used to remaining unnoticed. “I don't discuss personal issues,” he replied sharply, then got up and walked away.

“Nice fellow,” Jean said sarcastically. He didn't like Kurtis after being barred from entering Loanna’s tomb.

Lara smiled mischievously. “He likes to play the mysterious man role.”

But she didn’t admit he _succeeded_ in it. Kurtis was still a mystery to her. She wondered what kind of life he'd endured and why he insisted on closing himself off like behind a wall of bricks. That wasn't shyness; Kurtis was _anything_ but shy. Might be another way to remain unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's image is again an amazing sketch by Adayka.  
> Some Arab expressions used here:  
> "Salam aleikum": "Peace be with you". Traditional Muslim greeting.  
> "Allahu akbar": "God is great". Religious Muslim praise.


	16. Bloodstained Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's image is an artwork by Carola Funder.

 Screams and gunfire woke her up. Lara jumped out of bed and took the shotgun from under the bundle of clothes she was using as her pillow, then she decided she couldn’t go out in her underwear and hurriedly put on some clothes. She secured the Periapt in her backpack and left the tent.

“What the…?” She exclaimed... and then she saw it. Several Jeeps were arriving, from which men were jumping off and invading the camp, armed with submachine guns, led by... “Gunderson!” Lara cursed a thousand times for not having killed him when she had the chance.

Chaos erupted. The terrified excavators fled to the only place that seemed safe: the stronghold. The Bedouin, who felt war as if it were in their own blood, took up arms with savage cries and rushed to meet the invaders. The result was one group bumping into the other and forming a maze of terrified and angry people, all yelling amidst the fuss.

“Oh, c'mon.” Lara muttered, annoyed.

Gunderson's men ran between the tents and surrounded the people, targeting them with their weapons. The Bedouin faced them, but panic was rising.

Lara hid behind a tent, waited until one of the mercenaries passed by, and then she pounced on him and knocked him down. Both rolled down in the sand. After a brief struggle, Lara knocked him out with a punch to the temple.

She stumbled and looked around. The mercenaries had set fire to some of the tents and there were several corpses laying in the sand. Suddenly, someone pushed her towards the floor and threw her down, leaving her breathless. Gunfire rained down around them.

“Have you lost your mind?” Kurtis's voice rang in her ear. “Do you want to become the most beautiful strainer ever?”

The Bedouin’s war cries echoed throughout the camp. Lara and Kurtis crawled through the sand and took cover behind a dune. He took the Boran X and adjusted the scope above the barrel. A mercenary went towards them, but Kurtis brought him down with one shoot, then repeated the action twice more on two more mercenaries.

Lara stood.

“Where are you going?”

“Cover me, Kurtis! I’m going to find Putai!” She sprang forward and ran between the tents. Kurtis swore.

The mercenaries rushed towards her, having orders to capture her, but they didn’t even touch a single hair of hers. Kurtis, fast and lethal, wiped out one by one from his parapet before they could reach her.

Lara found Putai kneeling behind a Jeep, with pursed lips and gripping her robe, watching the battle. “Lara!” She cried. “Who are these men? What do they want?”

“It’s me they want,” Lara gasped. “Putai, please, you must leave. Both you and your people. Immediately.”

The Bedouin shaman frowned. “My people have never feared an enemy. We’ll fight.”

“You can't fight them!” Lara kicked up a tuft of sand. “Their weapons are better. This will be a slaughter!”

Then the gunfire stopped. Gunderson gave a curt order from an elevated position on a dune and immediately the mercenaries ceased fire. The Bedouin did the same, waiting for the parley.

Gunderson’s booming voice was heard throughout the camp.

“Nomads! Workers! We're not interested in you. We want a woman named Lara Croft. Deliver her to us and you’ll have no more deaths to mourn.”

“I knew it.” Lara muttered quietly.

Putai rose. Black as ebony, she was a beautiful woman, and shone with the pride and dignity of her race. “Come with me, Lara,” told to her friend, and walked towards the head of the mercenaries.

Lara looked at her and wondered if she was losing her mind. She reluctantly followed her, with the gun raised and the finger on the trigger.

Putai stopped a few steps from Gunderson. “Who are you?” She snapped, lifting her chin.

“Marten Gunderson, at your feet, ma'am.” He said mockingly. Then he looked at Lara. “And here's that _slut.”_

Lara fired. The shot fell just at Gunderson's feet and made him jump back. The Bedouin laughed and applauded enthusiastically.

Gunderson flushed with rage. “Last time you make fun of me, woman. Now's your chance to show your class, if you've any. Dispose of the weapon and surrender, and I swear on my honour as a mercenary we won’t hurt anyone else. I'll tell my men to withdraw and spare this pathetic company of diggers and this bunch of filthy ragged beggars.” He said looking at Putai with contempt. “However, if you still resist no one in this whole damn place will make it out alive.”

“What's he saying?” Asked Putai. Gunderson was talking in English and neither she nor any Bedouin understood it. Lara quickly translated his words. Putai indignantly turned to Gunderson and spat in his direction. “Let them come if they want! We’ll face them!”

Lara shook her head, exhausted, and looked around. The Bedouin were waiting, motionless. The workers were hiding in the wreckage of the shops, terrified. Kurtis was near, and beside him, she noticed a shocked and trembling Jean.

She exchanged a desperate glance with Kurtis, who slowly shook his head. _Don't ever surrender_.

But that meant a slaughter. The nomad's rickety old revolvers and machine guns couldn't compare to the mercenaries' modern, sophisticated weapons. It would be a bloodbath. She could avoid that. She...

“I don't know where you come from or why you want her.” Putai then spoke in French for Gunderson to understand. “But you’ll have to step over our dead bodies.” She raised high the rod, powerful, exultant, and then she launched the Bedouin's war cry, a shrill whistle made by striking the tongue back and forth on the sides of the mouth: the _zagharit_.

That was the signal. Then the Bedouin attacked all together.

 

* * *

 

 

Kurtis kicked a mercenary on the stomach, and struck another with his elbow. He caught the Chirugai on the fly after cutting a few throats and then drew his Boran. “Like cockroaches.” He grunted. “The more you kill, the more appear out of nowhere.” He knew how competent and tireless they could be, having been one of them once. Gunderson’s new mercenaries were equipped specifically for the desert, and had express orders to spare him; so he felt allowed in doing carnage.

The killing spread throughout the area. The Bedouin fought and defended themselves vigorously; after all, that was their land. But they could do little against the trained and well-armed soldiers. “They'll kill them all.” Kurtis said quietly. “They have no choice.”

Jean, who was at his side, shuddered. He carried a small revolver in hand, but he looked like he’d be killed rather than dare fire it.

“Where's Lara?” Kurtis said.

“I just saw her over there.” Said the Frenchman. “She was protecting _mademoiselle_ Putai.”

Kurtis fired in Jean's direction. The bullet passed near his head and struck a mercenary who was about to stab the Egyptologist in the back. “Be on the alert.” He urged to the terrified Jean. “I can't look after you.” He turned and started to run for Lara.

The French archaeologist stood alone amid the chaos, holding the gun with trembling hands. _“_ _Mon Dieu!”_ He whimpered. “I should have _never_ left Cairo!”

 

* * *

 

 

Half an hour later it was over.

The camp was quiet. A deadly silence. The sand was soaked with blood and covered with corpses. Bedouin. Egyptians. Mercenaries. Many bodies of different nations...mixed together in the same final embrace.

Amidst that bleak scenario, a man devoted himself to the unpleasant task of checking the bodies. He was unscathed, and so was the short, fat man behind him.

“They captured her...” Kurtis repeated again and again, his teeth clenched in anger, “they _took_ her!”

Lara was missing. His anguish and concern were increasing, and for once, he didn't bother trying to hide it.

“Look! Out there!” Said Jean suddenly.

They ran to the place he'd indicated. Putai was lying face down on the sand. Kurtis turned her over gently, and immediately he knew he couldn’t do anything for her. The shaman’s bloodstained body was riddled with bullet holes.

She opened her eyes, coughing. A trickle of blood slipped out of the corner of her lips. Kurtis took her in his arms and held her so she could breathe.

“Demon Hunter...” Putai whispered.

“Where's Lara?” He said.

The Bedouin's cloudy, glassy eyes squinted, and she coughed again. “She tried to defend me.” she stammered. “She ran out of ammunition and fought until the end. I tried to help, but I'm not a fighter. That bald man approached her from behind and knocked her down. They took her. I tried to stop them...” A convulsion shook her. The pain was an excruciating torture. She again coughed and expelled a new spurt of blood from her mouth.

Kurtis, still holding her, moved his hand to the Boran. One shot, fast and accurate, would suddenly end her suffering and give her a better death. He'd often done that with some fellow legionnaires in the battlefield.

Putai saw his gesture and apparently understood what he was about to do. She raised a trembling and bloodied hand and put it on his shoulder. “That won't be necessary.” She gurgled. “I’m about to join my ancestors. Find Lara...please swear you'll find her...and you'll destroy those who have done this to us.”

“I will.” He vowed, “I swear it.”

Putai relaxed. She dropped her hand down and grabbed a handful of the faintly red sand of Egypt. She took it to her lips, making a last tribute to her land and breathed her last time. Then her green eyes moistened and remained staring into space.

Kurtis rested her gently on the ground and closed her eyes. Taking the edge of her dark robe, he completely covered her and stood up.

Jean had witnessed the scene in silence. The archaeologist was quietly sobbing and tears ran down his cheeks.

For a moment, Kurtis wished he could do the same. To take out his rage. To mourn and howl with anger at the pointless carnage. But no tears came to his eyes. So many years ago tears dried for him...so many years he spent living in the shadow of death and destruction...so he had been forced to become desensitized to it.

He looked at his arms. They were all covered with blood. He looked at the Bedouin’s corpse for the last time and strode away while saying: “Let's go. No time to lose.”

“But the bodies...” Jean hesitated. “They’re unburied, and the desert’s beasts...”

“It’s the living who need our help,” Kurtis replied dryly.

Jean followed Kurtis through the desolate wasteland, trying not to step on anybody. “What are we supposed to do? The Government...”

“You'll take care of the Government,” Kurtis replied. “Take a Jeep back to Cairo and tell the authorities what happened here.”

The Egyptologist made a face of horror. “What should I say?”

Kurtis was gathering his things at full speed and stowing them in the baggage attached to his motorbike, which was still intact despite everything that had happened. “Tell them that the responsible party in all this is Marten Gunderson, who recently escaped from a prison in Romania. Tell them that he and a sect known as the Cabal are also responsible for the crimes committed in Paris and Prague.” He got on the motorbike and looked at Jean. “Seeing the way you look, I’m sure they won’t doubt your word.”

Indeed, the Frenchman had his clothes torn into pieces; his body was covered in sand, scratches, and bruises.

“You must make contact with European police. Tell them that _The Monstrum_ is not Lara Croft, but Joachim Karel. You _must_ remember this name.”

Jean nodded, feeling dizzy. “Lara told me about two people...Selma Al-Jazeera and Vladimir Ivanoff. She said they knew the truth.”

“Indeed,” he confirmed. “Try to contact them. It will be easier with their help.”

“Good luck, _monsieur_ Trent.”

He saluted and started towards the road. Jean took one of the Jeeps and, without looking back, returned to Cairo.

 

 

 

Upon reaching the Nile riverside, Kurtis halted and scanned the landscape around him. His tracker skills had served him little in the desert, for the tire tracks of Gunderson’s Jeeps had soon been erased by the wind. He was in a stalemate.

Not far from the shore of the great river there was a small village with a gas station next door. Along the shore there was a group of playing children, running and throwing mud at each other amid a cacophony of screams and squeals in general. One of them left the group and went towards Kurtis. “Wow!” He exclaimed. “What a cool motorbike!”

The man looked at the child. He wasn't more than ten years old; skinny and dressed in rags, one of those street children who lived to rob tourists and knew English because of that. “You want to ride it?” He said. The child widened his eyes and nodded excitedly. Kurtis got off his bike, picked up the little body and placed him on the seat. He wasn't really interested in kids, but experience had taught him that if one knew how to deal with them, they could become a valuable source of information.

A girl, also dirty and ragged, made a fearful gesture and came up to them. “Amir!” She shouted with a trembling voice. “Come here!” Obviously, she was afraid of Kurtis. But the boy wasn't willing to get off the motorbike so soon. “Oh, shut up, Fadila!” He replied, then he told Kurtis: “She's my older sister and believes she has the right to command me. She's so suspicious! Before you arrived she did the same with the other foreigners.”

“What foreigners?” Kurtis asked casually.

Fadila looked at him suspiciously. “Hundreds of foreigners come here every day.” She murmured. “Why should we distinguish one from another?”

_Bravo,_ thought Kurtis. _S_ _mart girl_.

Again it was Amir who intervened. “Don't play dumb, Fadila. Not all foreigners bring a dead woman with them.”

“Amir!” Screamed the girl, shocked.

_Eureka_ , thought Kurtis, and added: “A dead woman?”

Enjoying all the attention, Amir told him: “There were hundreds of men, with several Jeeps. They stopped to refuel at the pump. I went into one of the Jeeps when no one was looking and I found the dead woman.”

“So you robbed them.”

“Yes!” Proudly admitted the child. “I'm the best here. No one has caught me yet.”

“You're stupid.” Fadila said. “Those were evil men. If that bald one had caught you...”

“He was about three meters tall!” Amir continued enthusiastically.

Kurtis spoke again. “And how was the woman?”

“She was beautiful. She had braided hair and was dressed in a very weird way, for an archaeologist. Those bad guys had tied and gagged her.”

“Well, then she was _not_ dead,” said Fadila, circumspect. “No one ties and gags a corpse.”

“You're _so_ sure, aren’t you?” Amir snapped, annoyed. “The woman was dead! I kicked her in the shin and she didn’t even blink. Dead like a stone!”

“You know where they went?” Kurtis said, abandoning all discretion.

“They took the North Road,” Fadila said.

The man nodded sharply. He turned, lifted the child from the bike and then left him on the floor. “Gotta go, guys. Farewell and good luck.” He jumped into the vehicle, took off and got lost on the road, leaving a trail of dust.

Amir stayed silent for a moment, remembering the metallic touch of the motorbike. Then he turned to his sister and said accusingly: “You're annoying! First you act suspicious and then you made him leave!”

“Oh, shut up,” said Fadila. “Didn't you notice he was her _boyfriend_?”

Amir blinked, confused. “The dead woman’s boyfriend? How do you know that?”

She narrowed her eyes. “A woman knows about these things.”

“Bah!” Cried the child, and threw a handful of mud in her eyes. “You women know nothing!”

They engaged in a new battle of mud.

 

* * *

 

Lara regained consciousness, slowly and laboriously. All her bones ached, and when she tried to move a pang pierced her temples. Her head spun continuously. She tried to breathe, but she found her mouth gagged with a flexible band that was mercilessly sunk between her lips.

When attempting to open her eyes, her blurred vision found cloudy pictures and dancing lights, so she closed them again. She heard nothing except an annoying ringing in the ears and something resembling airplane propellers.

She vaguely remembered what had happened. She was trying to shield Putai when a group of mercenaries had attacked them: a great moment to run out of ammo. Both her and Putai had fought like lions - the shaman’s rod had opened more than a skull, but in the end they had been defeated. Lara could have escaped easily, but something inside her rebelled against the idea of abandoning the Bedouin to her fate. And then she felt that brutal elbow to the temple. And the darkness that followed.

“What's up, Miss Croft?” That mocking voice made her open her eyes, and through the mist that clouded them she saw Gunderson’s face. She tried to move, but was thoroughly tied, and every attempt to move made those shackles cut into her flesh like blades.

“The plane is about to take off,” the man told her. “In a few hours we'll be in Munich. The _Meister_ sends you his regards and _anxiously_ awaits your arrival.” He laughed.

Lara closed her eyes. They hurt her too much.

She didn’t fear for herself. At least not until she was before that monster Karel. At the moment, there was no use worrying about it. She'd been seized, beaten, bound, and gagged like a thousand times before. That didn't frighten her. However, she must find some way...maybe if she pretended that...

Gunderson was alarmed when she began to cough. After a few seconds, her face was red and her eyes bulged.

“She's choking!” Said the mercenary who was watching her.

“Nonsense,” Gunderson replied. “She can breathe perfectly fine.”

But Lara was still coughing and uttering muffled gasps, and the mercenary said: “She may choke with all that cotton.”

Gunderson grunted impatiently. His greatest wish was that bloody woman died there, but that wasn't convenient at all. He approached her; withdrew her gag and pulled the cotton out of her mouth.

Everything happened at breakneck speed. Lara grabbed the index and middle finger’s Gunderson with her teeth and crushed them with the molars. She heard Gunderson’s scream, but she didn't release him and bit with all her strength, closing her eyes. She noticed how his finger bones crunched between her teeth and instantly a brutal impact on her cheekbone almost knocked her unconscious. Stunned, she dropped Gunderson's hand and fell back. Above the deafening ringing in her ears she heard the bully bawling: _“_ _You dirty little slut!”_ She opened her eyes and saw Gunderson’s bloody hand, which he was grasping in rage and pain. His fingers were bent at an impossible angle. Out of himself, the bully kicked her in the stomach. Lara curled, gasping for breath.

Marten Gunderson would've killed her right then and there if it weren’t for several mercenaries pouncing on him and taking him away from her side. The hitman was yelling like an animal: _“_ _Enough! Get her out of my way! Get her out of my sight or I'll kill her! I swear I’ll kill that damned whoooooore!”_

Thousands of hands fell over her, so she started biting, spitting, and kicking out of control. Only then she realized how much her joints were hurting. How exhausted she was. That struggle was useless. She was going to lose. She was going to...

A brutal blow to her head cut off her dishevelled thoughts.


	17. This Man Will Survive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image, depicting Joachim Karel walking, by Carola Funder.

****

Minos Axiotis leaned back on his chair and sighed, then looked at the _Theotokos'_ icon hanging on the wall and sighed again, this time more deeply.

_Blessed Mother, give me strength to bear this uncertainty._

The last time he contacted Lara and Kurtis they were at the hotel in Brasov, but since they had gone to Egypt he hadn't heard a thing about them. He was afraid something bad had happened. Something to tip the balance in favour of Evil. If only he could...

The phone rang.

Minos looked at the device and shuddered. This wasn't normal. In his isolation, he didn't use any media - that being against their _modus vivendi_ and the holy rules of their community, but he'd been forced to use it to contact the Amazon and the Lux Veritatis. Still, he'd always been the one to call. It was impossible somebody could locate him... it couldn't be...

With a convulsive motion, he picked up the phone. The voice he heard through the handset was cold and as sharp as steel. _“_ _Geiá sou_ , Minos Axiotis.”

The old man gasped. “Who are you?”

“My mortal name is Joachim Karel.” He said in a perfect Greek. “As for my _real_ name, you’re not worthy of knowing it.”

Minos noticed he was shaking. He was talking to a Nephilim! An immortal...an angel...a demon. “What do you want?”

“Oh, just to inform you of the latest movements. Seems that your informers don't work very well lately. Maybe because I've killed them all. So I'll be your only contact from now. Be grateful, holy man, since not everyone can enjoy such privilege.”

The old man took a deep breath and tried to sound firm. “Say what you want.”

“I got the Amazon.”

Minos groaned, and Karel, hearing that, replied with a laugh. “Surprised? The story is repeating again. _Drakul_ seized Loanna, but he underestimated her. He didn't predict what a desperate mortal could do. He didn’t see in time she preferred death than serving him. I won’t make that mistake. I know what to expect from the Nephili's future _mother.”_ Minos couldn't speak, absorbed in his horror, and Karel thus continued: “It wasn't easy to get her. The Lux Veritatis has fought hard and even hurt me to avoid it. I really didn’t expect so much energy from that _rodent_ , but it seems he’s stupid enough to sacrifice his life for her. In fact, he already did that once, now that I recall. It’s _so_ typical of a mortal, isn’t it?”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Minos asked, clenching his fists in frustration.

“You already know, dotard. The Lux Veritatis will come for her, driven by that stupid sense of honour and responsibility to his Order’s ancestors. He could be a worthy opponent, but he has a major flaw: he’s human. That will make him lose.” Karel lowered his voice to a whisper. “Call him. Come on. He's in Cairo. I'll give you his location. Call and tell him what I’m going to do with her. And then tell me about his reaction.”

“Monster.” Minos snapped. “You’re Satan.”

Karel burst into laughter. _“_ _Satan?_ That's just the product of your fevered imagination. I'm real, Minos. And that's why I'm much more dangerous.”

The old man closed his eyes. That _must_ be a nightmare. “I won’t do anything you ask me.”

“You will anyway. I'll force you.”

Minos abruptly hung up, unable to stand that hateful voice for a second longer. He dropped his head in his hands and trembled violently.

Evil seemed to have found success and opened its way.

His thoughts turned to Kurtis. To the day when he met him...in person. The Lux Veritatis’ warrior didn't remember that day, but Minos did. He’ll remember it forever.

The images and memories came back to him with vivid clarity...

 

* * *

 

_There was a dark and foul tunnel. Minos advanced through it, face hidden within the hood of his robe and escorted by some of the brothers. They were armed, but not him. He would never carry a gun. Never._

_“_ _You must avoid violence,” he advised. “Don't use weapons unless strictly necessary.” A peaceful man, Minos Axiotis had vowed never to touch any weapon or harm any living being._

_The circumstances that led them to the Strahov were quite extraordinary. He was terrified at what they could find at the end of the tunnel. This one ended in a huge circular arena, with a large grating in the centre, under which water sparkled._

_“_ _Dear Lord!” Gasped one of them. “What's that?”_

_There was a monstrous creature toppled on the ground. It looked like a spider, but it was much more elongated and its proportions exorbitant. The walls and floor were splattered with a disgusting green liquid. When one of the brothers touched it, he screamed and had to wipe it off, for it burned like acid._

_A few meters past that repulsive display there was another corpse. This one was decapitated and looked... seemed a strange hybrid of woman and dragonfly, with a pair of spikes similar to those of a praying mantis._ _“_ _This is devil’s work,” sentenced another, crossing himself in horror._

_Then Minos saw him. He was lying motionless on his side, over a huge pool of blood. They ran towards him and surrounded him._

_“_ _It's him!” Minos said. “My dear God, what happened here?”_

_One of the brothers - Karolis - leaned over and placed the body face up. Great was their astonishment at seeing the man shudder and let out a groan._ _“_ _He's alive!”_

_It seemed impossible. He had a huge hole in his stomach and was bleeding in spurts._

_“_ _Quick!” Said Minos, “give me a piece of robe.”_

_He tore the garment into strips and applied around the man’s waist, trying to stop the bleeding._

_“_ _It's useless,” Karolis said, “you can’t hold in the blood with that. He’s going to die.”_

_The wounded man opened his eyes at that time. They were deep blue, like his father’s, but now glazed and lost, and a trickle of blood ran from his lips. He raised a shaking hand and tried to grab a gun that was holstered on his side, but he was too weak and dropped the hand again._

_Karolis understood. He leaned over and picked up the gun and pointed to his head._

_“_ _No!” Cried Minos. “Have you lost your mind?”_

_“_ _It's hopeless,” Karolis said. “We can't save him. It’s better to end his suffering quickly.”_

_The man rocked back and let out a howl of pain._

_“_ _But...” Minos hesitated._

_The wounded man screamed again. There was blood everywhere. Then he fixed his gaze to his pious executioner and held it with decision._

_He wanted to die. But Minos’ compassionate nature rebelled against that idea._ _“_ _Drop that gun,” he ordered curtly._

_Karolis, who already had his finger on the trigger, hesitated._

_“_ _Drop it, I said!”_

_“_ _Father, Karolis is right,” a brother intervened. “This man is dying. It’s better to put an end to his agony.”_

_“_ _No,” said Minos, and moved between Karolis and the wounded man. “Let's get him out of here and take him to a hospital.”_

_“_ _He'll die anyway!”_

_“_ _Enough!” Minos yelled. Suddenly, he felt furious. “Did you forget who this man is? Kurtis Trent is Konstantin Heissturm's son! Did you forget what his father did for us? Yes, the same one who saved our lives! Now we have his son dying here...and the only thing you think of is to shoot him!”_

_“_ _Father...”_

_“_ _Silence!” He was enraged. “Quick, move! And woe to you if he dies before reaching a hospital!”_

_The brothers stared at each other, stunned. Then they bowed down and moved quickly to attend the injured man. Kurtis saw Karolis had lowered the gun and then dropped his head down and passed out, unable to cope with the pain anymore._

_“_ _He’ll live...” Minos muttered as he watched how he was being picked up. “This man will survive! I swear this for God’s sake!”_

 

* * *

 

_And he survived, but only thanks to Minos, because in addition to waging the bloody battle with the brothers, he also had to deal with doctors, who at the beginning refused to perform surgery on Kurtis. According to them, he had no chance, so it was better to sedate him to quell the pain and let him pass away._

_Minos wouldn’t have it. Kurtis had to live. When screams, cries, and entreaties failed to move their hearts, the money did. Those heartless people were bribed with an amount the brotherhood couldn't afford. Then Minos himself and all the brothers had to offer their own veins because in the body of Konstantin’s son there practically was no blood left._

_Against all odds, Kurtis survived. Doctors were bewildered: the surgery had been risky and the bleeding, massive. But he made it, since fate had seen to that the monstrous sting which stabbed him from front to back had damaged neither his aorta, his spine, nor any other inner organ. Within weeks he was out of danger._

_“_ _I can’t believe my eyes,” said Karolis. “Doctors say it’s a miracle.”_

_“_ _Of course it's a miracle, brother,” sighed Minos. “A true miracle.”_

 

* * *

 

Kurtis was in a bar, in a lost village between Karnak and Luxor. Anyone who saw him would have said he was just a tourist.

He knew how to find his own sources and to search for contacts, so he carefully chose his target: an employee of an illegal aircraft hangar. He would know if Gunderson had left the country – since Kurtis knew he wouldn't be _so_ stupid to catch a commercial plane while holding a hostage - but this guy would never provide any information willingly.

Kurtis had two options: the fast one, to make him _sing_ by brute force. Unfortunately, that meant the guy would remember his face for a long time...which wasn't convenient at all. So despite his own eagerness, he chose the slow one and invited the man to a couple of drinks at the nearest bar.

It's said that children and drunks never lie. He had already talked with children, now it was the drunk’s turn.

With that man Kurtis played the braggart legionnaire’s role, posing as the stereotypical desert fox who knows everything happening between the sky and the ground. With a little help from Jack Daniel’s, the victim was talking up a storm in no time. “So you really were at Kosovo?” The guy asked. “That’s awesome!”

“See this?” Kurtis noted a long scar beside his left eye. “A Croat stabbed me. I almost lost the eye.”

“Awesome!” He repeated.

Of course, that was a lie. But the guy was so drunk at that point that Kurtis could've convinced him that donkeys could fly. And with the gauze still taped to his temple and his best pimp face in place, he fully mastered his role-playing.

“So, what have you been up to?” Kurtis said, filling the other’s glass for the umpteenth time.

“I’m an aircraft pilot.” Said the other, emptying the glass in one gulp. “People pay me and I help them to leave the country without having to go through tolls or customs. But today I’ve a day off and a colleague is taking my place.”

“You must see all kinds of people.” He said, putting a cigarette between his lips.

“Oh, definitely! Some Mafia guys and smugglers. What they are up to is not my business, as long as they pay me.” Then he looked askance at Kurtis. “You haven't drunk that much, dude.”

In fact, Kurtis still had his first glass half full while his partner was on his twelfth. He'd only wet his lips twice. “I can't overdo.” He replied with a calm smile. “I recently had stomach surgery and shouldn’t be playing with this.”

At least, that wasn't a lie. In fact, he had _really_ good alcohol tolerance - when the fellow right there would be on the floor Kurtis would feel _only_ a slight tingling; but it wasn't time to get drunk, not even to sound more convincing.

“Meh, no matter.” Said the other, eagerly watching his glass. “I'll take care of yours.”

Kurtis rushed to fill his glass again.

“Well, now that you mention it, there's been pretty weird stuff today.” The fella's voice began to be a bit slow. “A kidnapping.”

“Looks like you got a leak in your glass.” Kurtis said, filling it again.

That was the final straw to that wretch, who couldn't resist the temptation to brag any longer and let his tongue loose. “You should've _seen_ that woman!” He croaked at some point in his rambling. “What a woman! A daddy's girl, no doubt, but what a beastie! She woke up when they were loading her on the plane. Gagged and all that stuff, the chick managed to bite the bald titan and before they knocked her out, she'd three of his minions all fucked up. A kick-ass girl, and with that being _tied!_ She spread their teeth all over the floor. Actually, I don't envy whoever has to be her jailer. They better release her before the payment.” He laughed loudly and pounded the table, rattling the cups. Some clients turned to look at him.

“Looks like you're a man of resources.” Kurtis said hastily, seeing the guy crumble. “Y'know where they took her?”

“A-ha, fella.” Said the other, dull-minded. “Gotcha. You’re looking for her, right? Munich, I think. But if someone notices...” He didn't finish the sentence. He collapsed on the table, overturning the glass. Some customers pointed at him, laughing.

Kurtis decided he'd drawn enough attention for that day. He got up and walked to the bar door, pointing his thumb at the drunk and saying to the barman before leaving: “Bill's on him.”

 

* * *

 

Karel took off his sweater and turned to Giselle who, trying to control her trembling hands, gently peeled back the gauze covering his wound. “Oh.” She sighed. “Still bleeding.”

The Chirugai had cut him deeply to the point of breaking his rib, but it was now intact again. The Nephilim were able to heal their wounds quickly and easily, but something here angered Karel and baffled Giselle: as soon as it looked healed, it then reopened and bled again.

“I don't understand.” Karel hissed through clenched teeth. “I've had worse over the centuries, mostly thanks to the Lux Veritatis, and that's never a problem. What's wrong here?”

Giselle applied clean bandages to the wound, while staining her hands with his luminous white blood. “Maybe that weapon.” She suggested. “Something on those blades prevents complete healing. Or maybe it's the curse between you and that man. Probably an injury made by him will never heal.”

“Then it may work backwards as well. I'll remember that.” The Nephilim whispered with a confident smile.

Suddenly there was shouting and scuffling in the hallway. Giselle ignored it, used to patient’s fusses, but at the moment the bedroom door opened and a very pale Marten Gunderson appeared, with one hand wrapped in rags.

“I see you're back from Egypt.” Karel said, getting dressed again.

“Yes, _Meister_.” He replied, nodding. “I got that bitch. My men are taking her to a room. Those howls you hear is her, making a fuss.”

“And what did that...mmm... _bitch_ do to you?” Karel said with an ironic twang, adjusting his black scarf around his neck.

“This!” He grumbled, unwrapping his hand.

Giselle gasped. Two of his fingers were broken and crushed. The doctor examined with a critical eye and said: “Those bones are splintered. Sorry, Marten, but you lost both fingers.”

Gunderson released a loud and resounding swear and collapsed on a chair, grumbling and cursing under his breath.

Karel blinked in surprise: “You say she did _that_ to you?”

“Yes, _Meister_. She pretended to be choking on the gag and when I was removing it, she bit me.”

_“_ _S_ _he bit you?”_ The Nephilim dropped his head on his chest and put a hand on his forehead. Then his shoulders started shaking, so Gunderson thought he was about to fly into a rage. Giselle stepped back, frightened, but then Karel threw back his head and burst into laughter. The hitman frowned, annoyed. Giselle looked again at his crushed fingers and began to wonder _what_ kind of woman Lara Croft was.

“Well, Gunderson.” Karel said when he caught his breath. “I think you deserve some compensation. I'm harsh, but not ungrateful. Ask what you want and you 'll be granted it.”

Marten Gunderson had dreamt a thousand times of that moment, hoping Eckhardt would reward him for his efforts with immortality. But all his plans and major projects had collapsed. He now wanted just one thing so far, and wanted it more and more intensely. “I want to kill Lara Croft.” He spat between his teeth.

Karel arched his eyebrows and said with a grin: “You ask too much, Gunderson. She's _mine.”_

“When you're done with her,” the killer insisted, “I want to be the one to finish her.”

The Nephilim laughed again. He enjoyed mortals’ hatred and fear of death; it amused him. “Granted.” He said, and turning to Giselle, he added. “When you're done with the cure, take care of Lara Croft. You know what to do.”

The doctor nodded and proceeded to prepare the instruments to perform surgery on Gunderson.

 

* * *

 

Karel went to the Library adjacent to the Laboratory. Luther Rouzic was there waiting for him with the Periapt, already delivered to him by one of the mercenaries.

Rouzic was a really creepy man. Tall, thin, completely bald, and pale as a corpse; but the most frightening thing about him was his glass eye, inserted into an empty socket traversed by a scar given to him by a manticore. The monster had mutilated him at Eckhardt's order, a punishment for an escape attempt, and since then he'd served the Cabal with great devotion and loyalty.

A specialist in symbolism and experienced in its study, Rouzic felt at the time the same fascination by the Periapt as Lara. When Karel arrived to his office he immediately rose and saluted him with due respect. Then, with the same deference, he offered him the orb. The Nephilim turned the crystal ball in his hands, carefully observing the carved symbols.

“Careful, _mein Meister._ ” Rouzic advised with his wheezing and mellow voice. “Its edges could harm you.”

Karel glared at the archivist, who shuddered and lowered his eye to the ground.

“This glass can only hurt me if wielded by a Lux Veritatis.” Karel said with his icy voice. “I _do_ _n't_ need you looking for my weaknesses, Rouzic. You won't find many, anyway.” Leaving the Periapt on the desk, he continued: “What about the Shards?”

“Well kept as ordered, _mein Meister_.”

“There might the chance of merging them. To fuse the three Shards with the original sphere again.”

Rouzic said with admiration: “Without a doubt it would erase the risk, _Meister.”_ Seeing Karel's glare, he hastened to add. “But I don't see how. The Periapt recomposes itself in a millisecond. I don't know how the Lux Veritatis succeeded in separating them.”

“We'll get it.” Karel sentenced. “You’ll begin immediately with the study of the symbols. Lara Croft has done some work already, and I'm sure you'll be interested in her input.”

Rouzic made a subtle sneer. “She's just a grave robber. What can she know that I don’t?” That wasn’t mere arrogance. Luther Rouzic was the most proficient scholar in symbolism, cryptography, and decoding hieroglyphics in Europe, and had little to envy from other experts worldwide.

Karel nodded and called a mercenary, who laid on the table a bundle of papers. “Gunderson brought this from her tent in Al-Fayoum.” He explained. “Take a look, Rouzic, you’ll find that interesting. Maybe she's just a thief who pretends to be an archaeologist, but she’s also the smartest mortal I've met in my long-lived existence. Alas, what a Nephilim could've been.” He muttered to himself.

The archivist took the papers with a dismissive gesture and examined them superficially. After a few seconds, he dropped his jaw and gasped softly.

“Surprised?” Karel said. “I leave you to study. With your experience and her talent combined, you'll give me the True Option earlier than expected.”


	18. Giselle Boaz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's image is a screenshot from the deleted FMV scene of Putai and Lara for TRAOD.

Lara wondered if it was worth opening her eyes. She already knew what she was going to see: nothing. The Laboratory’s rooms were locked and bolted, leaving the patients in darkness, bound to stretchers and without any chance to move.

She silently reviewed all similar situations she’d been in, and came to the sad conclusion that this was by far the worst. Her ankles and wrists hurt when trying in vain to remove the straps. The slightest movement was torture.

Darkness had sharpened her hearing, so she could hear murmuring, far-off crying, and the occasional scream or screeching metal. So at least she wasn't _totally_ isolated.

But where was she? That place resembled the Strahov Sanitarium, which she knew by Kurtis’ descriptions. As to what they would do to her, Lara guessed it, and while not harbouring any hope of getting rid of _that_ , she resolutely decided not to give the enemy the satisfaction of seeing her desperation.

The door opened with a clang and a pulsing yellow light filled the narrow room, reflecting into the white tiled room, the bright glow dazing Lara. When getting used to the searing glare, she finally noticed the newly arrived person, and gasped. “Boaz?”

The woman looked up, annoyed. Indeed, she was pretty much alike to the Cabal scientist she'd met in Prague, but this one had blonde hair and her skin was perfect, without the horrible burns that framed the other's face. “Yes,” she said with the same melodious voice. “I'm Dr. Boaz, though not the same you'll surely remember. That was my sister Kristina. I'm Giselle.” Lara saw she was filling a syringe with a clear liquid. “And I see,” she continued, “you're the woman for whom _mein_ _Meister_ has taken so much trouble. Disappointing. You’re not worthy at all.”

Lara studied the scientist’s face, her narrowed eyes, her tight lips, and what she discovered almost made her laugh. _That woman was jealous! Jealous of her!_

Definitely, it was the last straw.

“Let’s swap places,” muttered Lara, “you lie here, I put this crap in you, and when your beloved _Meister_ comes I’ll switch off the light to see if he notices the difference.”

That comment produced the desired effect. Giselle quickly dropped the syringe on the tray and slapped Lara. It wasn’t so hard, but she just jolted her on the cheek already bruised by Gunderson’s punch.

Indomitable, Lara went again. _“_ _What!_ ” She exclaimed, surprised and ironic. “Did I offend you?”

Giselle, through clenched teeth, pricked her and murmured: “You're just a _slut_. I don’t know what _mein_ _Meister_ sees in you. But very soon you’ll stop mocking us.”

Lara smiled slyly in reply. Enraged, the doctor came out and slammed the door. Back in the hall, Giselle took a few steps and leaned against the wall to slow her breathing, but she couldn't control the shaking, and dropping her head in her hands, she burst into uncontrolled and convulsive sobs.

 

* * *

 

Kurtis parked the motorbike in the alley and went out onto the busy street. He'd just arrived in Munich, almost at the limit of his strength. “I need a holiday.” He grunted, rubbing his sore neck.

With a bit of logic, he'd guessed that if the Cabal had one of its bases in Munich, it would be in a prominent but not too obvious place. The city was vast and the base could be anywhere.

Under normal circumstances, he would've been patient and kept loose ends away by asking and remaining unnoticed. But time had run out for him, and patience as well. He decided to use his farsee.

He evoked and mentally projected Lara’s face and name in all directions. If someone in that city had seen or heard of her in the last twenty-four hours, he'd locate that person immediately.

The result was a mental noise that almost got on his nerves. Half of Munich had heard of her, of course. She was more than famous.

Cursing himself for his stupidity, Kurtis got rid of the tangle and began again, evoking only Lara’s face.

 _Bingo_. Thirty people had seen her at least in the last six hours. The nearest was only a couple streets from him. Quick and silent, Kurtis started to tail him.

Throughout his life, Kurtis had failed more than he succeeded. Not due to incompetence on his part, but because events had been unfavourable to him. He always made the wrong decision, ended at an inconvenient place or did and said the wrong thing. At the Louvre he'd made the mistake of being _too_ distracted by Lara, which led him to be caught by Eckhardt. At the Strahov he didn't expect another ambush and so he was caught again, forcing Lara to hand over the last Painting to Eckhardt. He also turned his back on Boaz when he believed her dead. And lastly, in Egypt, he'd lost sight of Lara.

Luckily, he knew how to fix his mistakes, quickly and effectively. But this time, for once in his life, his plans _needed_ to go well. He deserved it! His farsee hadn’t failed him. That man had seen Lara recently. But had he entered into the base? If only he was one of Gunderson’s mercenaries...he only asked for that...

Suddenly, the guy turned around. That surprised him, being almost ten meters and hundreds of people between them. In addition, he'd been extremely discreet. But he knew that guy had discovered him when their eyes locked and both started running at the same time. The guy ran away, before him, bumping into the flood of people. Fortunately, the hunted man made the mistake of getting into an alley to escape the hassle of running through the crowd. So he came to a dead end.

Finding himself cornered, the man, dressed in casual wear, drew a gun and pointed it at his pursuer. Kurtis came to a stop. But before he could even put his finger on the trigger, the whistling Chirugai had taken the weapon from his hands, flinging it out of reach.

“Ok.” Kurtis said, catching the flying weapon in the air. “Now it’s just you and me.”

“What do you want?” Snapped the other, looking at the glaive in fear.

“Just look at this.” Kurtis replied, and moved his hand before his eyes.

Suddenly, the man jumped back and flattened himself against the wall, his eyes wide open. He uttered a cry of horror and began to panic, as if trying to protect himself from some invisible attacker. “No!” He shouted. “Enough! Make _that_ go away!”

“That depends on you. You work for Marten Gunderson?”

“Yes!”

“Have you recently kidnapped a woman? A woman named Lara Croft?”

“Yes! Get that outta my sight, please!”

“Where have you taken her?”

“To the Lab! God, get that thing away from me or kill me _now!”_ The unfortunate was curled up against the wall and covered his head with his hands. The thing which terrified him wasn't real, it existed only in his mind and the more he feared it, the more its power increased.

“Answer me and I’ll make it go away.” Kurtis continued relentlessly.

And the man told him everything he wanted. He was a tough and well-trained guy; he could've endured any torture except _that_ horror: an ancient fear which had haunted him throughout his life and was now shaped before his eyes. He described the place where they had brought Lara. He told him how to enter and get out. He told him all identification codes.

Kurtis listened to it all in silence, without moving a finger from his folded arms. “Ok.” He finally agreed. “Now my turn.” And he again passed his hand before his eyes.

The man looked around and sighed in relief, then fixed his terrified eyes on Kurtis. “Who _the hell_ are you?”

“Your worst nightmare.” He answered sharply. “If I were you I wouldn't talk about what happened here, buddy, or I swear I’ll send _that_ thing back to you and this time I'll make it stay for the rest of your life.” From that wretch’s facial expression Kurtis felt sure he'd be eternally silent on the issue.

He left the alley despising himself for having used that skill. The Lux Veritatis had the ability to terrify people by showing them their most feared nightmares. Displeased by the possible misuse of that power, they had strictly forbidden its use. They had other resources to fight, and they also could rely on each other.

But now Kurtis was the last one and he was alone, the only one left to face all that evil, against which the entire Order had fought. There was too much at stake to mind rules and scruples.

“The end justifies the means.” He muttered while riding the bike again and driving toward the city’s suburbs.

 

* * *

 

Lara felt tired and empty. She'd lost perception of time due to the constant fluctuation between periods of consciousness and unconsciousness. She saw only blackness and intervals of yellow light. She met no one apart from that doll-faced doctor, disfigured by hatred and jealousy, and her assistant, the warden Friedrich. She felt nothing other than those piercing straps pressing at her numbed body and the continuous pricking in her arm.

What were they injecting in her? Some kind of sedative drug, judging by the symptoms. Sometimes she passed out and sometimes she felt weakened. Might be some hormone serum to undermine her strength, to make her meek as a lamb, she wouldn't resist when it came the time to...

_No, dammit! I'm not a laboratory guinea pig!_

This was a nightmare. It had to be. Maybe she would awake soon…

The door opened and that ghastly light blinded her again.

“Good morning, my little one.”

“Good morning to you, ninny.” Lara muttered, relieved at seeing it was Friedrich and _not Karel_.

The assistant looked at her with pity. In the end, he felt sorry for that fierce British woman doomed to that humiliating state of sedation to serve their purpose, only to be eliminated afterwards, as they did with all the rest. Just another casualty of war in the Cabal's great cause. “How are you today?”

“Everything was fine until you showed up.” Lara said.

Friedrich ignored the comment and examined the woman’s joints. Her wrists and ankles were raw. “My little one, I told you not to struggle. Look at what you've done. I suggested to Dr. Boaz to loosen your straps, but you have to admit, my little one, that you're _not_ being a model patient.”

“Shut up. I'm not _your little one_. Stop pretending; you're as _demented_ as the rest of your cult.”

The warden sighed. “As I can see, you don't get enough sedatives for your big mouth. If I were you, I'd be less arrogant. You'll be with us for a long time. I suppose...” and then he grimaced and said slowly, “…about nine months.”

Lara's reply was to spit at his face, but he didn't even flinch, used to patients’ rage and helplessness. He simply cleaned his face and said with insolence: “Well, OK, I admit I said something silly. Actually it won’t be longer than three months, considering the fast development of a Nephilim fetus.”

If glances could kill, Friedrich might have exploded into pieces right there.

“I’ll be back in a while.” He said after pricking her. “Then I hope you're calmer.”

“Don't bother yourself.”

“Are you always the last one to talk?”

“Of course.”

When he returned, he found her as expected: drowsy, her skin covered by sweat and staring blankly at the ceiling. After passing his hand over her eyes several times, he untied her straps, freeing her arms and torso, and prepared to heal her joint wounds.

He'd just turned to the tray when two flexible arms encircled his shoulders and pulled him back. Before he could even realize what was happening, Friedrich was caught with a sharp scalpel touching his throat.

“Game over, you disgusting pig.” Lara whispered in his ear. “You’ll help me get outta here or I swear on your grave I’ll cut your bloody throat.”


	19. The Supreme Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is an awesome render of Joachim Karel made by Jesús Osorio. Thank you, my friend!!

 

At that moment, Dr. Boaz, extremely pale and twisting her fingers, asked to see Karel.

“What do you want?” He said, looking up from Rouzic’s notes about the Periapt’s symbolism.

“The woman is under treatment, as commanded, _Meister._ ” She said. “If we continue the dose for some days we’ll have her docile and completely at your mercy.”

Karel looked at Giselle and smiled with amusement at seeing her overwhelmed look and her clenched teeth. “You can barely hide your hatred and loathing for Lara Croft.”

The scientist bit her lower lip. “That woman's hateful and despicable! She's spent two days tied up and under treatment, yet still she dares to challenge me.”

“Well, be grateful _at least_ she didn't bite you.” Karel chuckled.

“You can’t negotiate with that bitch. She hates you, _mein Meister_ , and she’ll do anything to damage you.”

The Nephilim shrugged and added: “That will only make all this more entertaining. Perhaps she’s the most rebellious and spirited of all mortals, but she’s still a mortal. She can do little against me.”

“She killed the Sleeper!”

“Therefore she must pay for that, and she'll do it in the most humiliating way for her.”

“So that's all?” Giselle said, disappointed. “Just payback?”

“Of course _not_. I'm not mortal, revenge is a flaw I lack. There's a prophecy and she's the Amazon. I hadn’t noticed that when I chose her to recover the Paintings, but then she destroyed the _Cubiculum Nephili.”_ And then he added with a grin: “What’s happening here is you're jealous.”

Dr. Boaz blushed to the ears, but she said emphatically: “That slut doesn't deserve such honour! You never believed in prophecies. I beg you to give me a chance. I offer myself to take her place.”

Karel arched his eyebrows. After spending thousands of years between them, learning their habits and attitudes, those damned mortals always managed to surprise him.

“Joachim!” She continued, haltingly, “ _I love you!”_

He shook his head. Human passions! How much he missed the quiet and serene fellowship of his people, always above those flaws!

“Enough of this nonsense, Boaz.” He said coldly. “I belong to a race beyond your understanding. A race of angelic beings who would take a human for their pleasure, but never as a partner. If I accept your _romantic_ offer, you'd be merely the instrument to carry out my purpose. Then I’d get rid of you, because you'd be of no more use to me. Is that what you want?” He opened his hand and showed the Nephilim’s symbol. “Look at this, Giselle, and never forget. You mean _nothing_ to me. Neither you nor any other mortal. I don’t need your experiments. _I don’t need you.”_

She looked down, deeply wounded, and nodded slowly. Then she said resignedly: “You’re like Eckhardt. He didn't believe in me. I'd have made you proud of me. I'm sorry if I interrupted, I won't bother you anymore.” And she turned and left the room.

Karel stood looking at the door for a moment, then shrugged and continued to study the symbols.

 

* * *

 

 

Never in his wildest dreams had Friedrich imagined that could happen to him. “But...” he stammered, “you’re supposed to be sedated! It can’t be, it’s impossible...”

“You think things have to be _possible_? They just have to be _real!”_ Cried Lara, “now do as I say if you don’t want to end with a span of steel in your throat.”

“You won’t go far. You're weak and unarmed. This is our place. What you’re doing is madness.”

Lara drove the tip of the scalpel with a determined gesture on the warden’s neck, bringing forth a trickle of blood.

“Then you better _not_ annoy this madman,” she spat between her teeth.

It took no more to crumble the warden's will. Shaking and crying inconsistencies, he just released Lara’s belt. Then, with a sharp twist, she broke his neck and dropped him to the ground.

Lara stopped to catch her breath for a moment. When she tried to stand up, rising from the stretcher, her knees failed and she rolled down to the ground. She leaned back against the wall. That idiot was right. The drugs were making their effects known. How could she escape in such a state?

_I've gone too far. I won't give up now._

She crawled along the ground to reach the door, grabbed the knob and pushed herself to get up. Again, her legs buckled, but somehow managed to stay upright. She opened the door and peered into the hallway. There was nobody.

After opening the door, a weak and dizzy Lara ventured through the Laboratory's halls, stumbling and clinging to the walls, with no other weapon than a scalpel.

 

* * *

 

 

Giselle came running to her office, entered, and slammed the door. She was about to vent her sorrow against the furniture, but she stopped when seeing a man sitting in her chair with his legs on the desk, placed over several analyses and other valuable files. His brazen and insolent behaviour filled Giselle with fury. “Who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Kurtis,” he replied dryly. “And apparently you are...” he leaned forward, took a plaque on the table, and read, “... _Dr. Boaz_.  Fuck that name,” he grunted softly.

“Kurtis Trent!” Shouted the scientist, “You killed my sister!”

“If _that_ thing was your sister, then I did you a favour.” He rose and moved towards her. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Don’t piss me off, Dr. Barbie. Where do you have her?”

“Go to hell.”

“You know more about hell than me, hag.”

Giselle had retreated against the wall. She discreetly groped her robe pocket, until she found a small syringe filled with morphine. She pulled the plug and jumped towards Kurtis, pointing directly towards his neck.

But she didn’t manage to prick him. She suddenly felt completely paralysed, her arm held high, and was stuck like that, unable to move forward or retreat.

“Wrong move,” Kurtis said, and pulled the syringe from her hand, “I knew you'd try something stupid like that.”

The scientist looked at him, terrified. She'd heard about the Lux Veritatis’ powers, but in her confusion she'd forgotten about that. It was like if an invisible force held her back.

And suddenly it let her go. The doctor stumbled and was about to fall, but Kurtis grabbed her arm and pulled her up brutally. “Now take me to Lara,” he said, putting the barrel of his Boran X against her neck, “and you better not try any more stupid moves or I’ll send you where I sent your monster sister in the blink of an eye.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lara heard footsteps in the corridor. She quickly opened the first door she found, which fortunately wasn't locked, and went inside. She didn't feel strong enough to fight, and a scalpel wasn't a great weapon.

But...where was she? The room was completely dark, as was most of the Laboratory rooms. But a strong stench filled the air, like a mixture of chemicals and metal. Something like blood…and formalin.

Lara groped in the dark, looking for a switch. But what she found was a foot. She gasped and withdrew her hand. Then she touched it again. _Yes, it was a foot_. A small and frozen foot. There was a human body.

She turned and looked for the wall, bumping against several stretchers, until she finally found the bloody switch. When she got used to that annoying light, she turned and froze.

Frozen as the corpses that filled the room. Men, women, and children of all ages were lying on stretchers, dissected, mutilated, incomplete. Those who still had eyes stared at the ceiling with indifference.

The smell of formaldehyde was unbearable. Lara moved faintly between the stretchers, watching the gory scene with horror. A mortuary? No. They had been ordinary, healthy people. This was an atrocity, like some kind of Nazi experiment.

“Don’t be upset,” Karel's voice whispered behind her. “No more will die. You’ll pay for them all.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lara whirled around. Karel was there, silent and expectant. God, how she hated his ability to appear and disappear at will without making a sound. “Where do you think you were going?”

“Away from you, hellish scum,” Lara said, wielding the scalpel.

“If I were you I wouldn't think so. There's so much I can offer you.”

“Yeah, right. Don’t make me laugh.”

He moved slowly towards her. Without even realizing it, Lara began to retreat, but kept the scalpel at the ready.

“You refused my offer rather quickly the first time. I've had hundreds of mortal at my service and none of them are like you. Join me and I’ll put at your feet this opportunity you despise. I'll make you immortal and I'll fulfill every wish of yours.”

“My only wish is to get rid of you,” she said through clenched teeth.

“That’s not an option, Lara. If you refuse to do this once more, you’ll do this by force. The only difference being you'll die when you're no longer useful to me.”

At that moment, Lara's back slammed into a desk full of laboratory equipment. Karel moved forward until his chest touched the scalpel's tip. “Go on. Stick it in. It won’t make any difference. You could even stab me and still it won’t kill me.”

Before she could even imagine the shock, Lara found herself lying on the laboratory counter, with her wrist immobilized by Karel’s fist, who was laughing sarcastically.

Weakened as she was, Lara realized she wasn't a dangerous rival for him, and barely had the strength to defend herself.

“You see?” He said, “I said you'd _fear me.”_

Lara still had a free hand. She grabbed a flask at the same moment Karel’s fingers forced her to drop the scalpel and slammed it against his face. The glass broke with the impact and cut his cheek from the temple to the corner of the lip. The Nephilim cried in rage as a wave of milk-looking blood flood across his face. He snatched the broken flask from her hand before rising in all his pride. Then he put his hand on the cut and touched it. Within seconds, his cheek was intact.

They challenged each other with their glances for a moment. His was cold and cruel. Hers was defiant, still half-lying on the counter and not daring to move. As if, despite everything, he fascinated her.

“I thought you were smarter, Lara,” he continued, dropping the flask to the ground with a dismissive gesture. “Apparently you've not understood very well who I am. I’m actually the most ancient being on the planet. You couldn't resist the curiosity to see what I've seen. Studies, theories, encyclopaedia, researches, religions are for me nothing but a herd of mankind’s fantasies and speculations. When the Lord cast His plagues on Egypt, I already existed. When Alexander arrived in India, I was there. When Columbus discovered America, I witnessed that. I've witnessed the entire history of this world, Lara. There's no question I can't answer for you. There's no mystery I can’t disclose to you. I could tell you many things and make you see them as I did...”

The spell of his eyes was stunning. His voice was like poison. Lara felt as if her head was about to explode. Her body was stiff and the strong smell of the room made her gag.

“And if the mankind’s mysteries are not enough for you,” continued Karel, “I can reveal to you the divine mysteries. I'm half angel. I've seen the face of Him whom you call God. I can tell you who He really is, without fantasies and religious dogmas. I can tell you what happens after death. Yes, I could even restore life to who you want. I could grant you everything you asked me and that would be only a fraction of what I could give to you...if you only join me.”

Lara closed her eyes, dizzy. That tension was beyond her strength. It would be so easy to give up, to surrender... “I would accept your offer, Karel, if you wouldn’t demand so much in return,” she opened her eyes again, “What about all these victims? This gruesome imitation of a Nazi experimental laboratory is also part of your offer?”

“It was a whim of Eckhardt. I didn't approve all of his methods, but he was useful to me. As I said, thanks to you this won't continue. You will put an end to it.”

“You'll sacrifice me on behalf of all the doomed ones. That’s _really_ moving.”

“It depends on you to be a sacrifice or a gift. I offer my hand again to you, Lara, but I also warn you there will be no third time. If you refuse again, I’ll abandon any qualms about the treatment I’m going to give you.” And he offered a white, perfect hand, except for that mark on the palm, a brand apparently made with a red hot iron which she'd recognized from the start.

While she was tempted to accept, she also was aware of what she was about to do. She couldn't pretend. She couldn't lie. She hadn't _that_ choice.

Once again, Werner’s corpse appeared before her eyes. She heard Luddick’s screams. She saw Bouchard’s lifeless body falling to the ground. She recalled Kristina Boaz’s desperate glance as she fell inside that pod, Muller's terror when she ate him. She was reminded of Putai's anger at seeing her people massacred. And, above all, she remembered _Kurtis_. Kurtis, who'd helped her to escape. Kurtis, who'd stood between Karel and her. Kurtis, who had risked his own life to save her more than once.

And she knew if she joined that abominable being, she'd be betraying them all, good and evil, righteous and wicked. She'd be immortal, but empty. She'd reach the highest knowledge of all visible and invisible things, but she'd sell herself. She'd surrender to the whims of the Nephilim in exchange for knowledge and power. She'd save her life, but condemn the rest of mankind.

“Karel, I...” her voice was shaky and tentative. He looked at her, pleased...but then Lara squinted and spat vigorously, “I prefer death rather than put up with you for all eternity!”

With a wild cry, she sank her knee into Karel’s stomach and pushed him back. She jumped from the counter and ran towards the door, but at the moment a cold hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her, making her fall. She managed to slap the switch and the light went off. In her fall she rolled over a stretcher and the corpse lying on it fell on her as well.

Karel's fist, so cold that it burnt, was still clutching Lara’s bare foot. She kicked and crushed it against the floor with a stomp. Once free, she crawled under the stretchers and reached the door. She slipped down the hall, thinking only of escape once and for all from that damned place, far from those corpses and far from Karel.

 


	20. Luther Rouzic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image for the chapter is a drawing of Luther Rouzic, librarian of the Cabal, by Murti Schofield, TRAOD's storywriter.

“I knew it,” Kurtis sighed, rolling his eyes. “She simply can’t be still.”

Giselle cried in horror at seeing Friedrich on the floor, next to the empty bed. “He's dead!” She whimpered. “She broke his neck!”

“Looks like it,” Kurtis agreed, pushing her forwards, “and I don't even want to think what she's up to right now. Breaking something or cutting off power for sure.”

Boaz reacted swiftly, hitting Kurtis in the face hard enough to stun him. She slipped into the hallway and punched an alarm button. Instantly, a loud siren started blaring violent echoes all across the bright surfaces of the enclosure.

She screamed when he pulled her hair. “Well, Dr. Boaz, you've exhausted my patience. Enjoy your stay with your friend,” Kurtis hissed before throwing her into the room and locking the heavy door. Now she’d yell if she wanted to. Those gates were identical to the Sanitarium's: no sound escaped through them.

The alarm kept ringing. In a few moments the place would be full of mercenaries.

He walked quickly down the hall. On the verge of turning a corner, a slender figure fell upon him, brandishing a scalpel straight to his heart. Kurtis made a quick retreat and blocked his attacker, who turned out to be Lara. “Hey, calm down, beastie!” He shouted.

She looked at him with wide open eyes and dropped her arm. “What are you doing here?” She gasped.

Kurtis snorted. _“_ _What am I doing here?_ Hanging out, of course. I've just arrived from Egypt, looking for you nonstop for days without sleep, and the only thing you can think to do is to stab me and ask _what am I doing here.”_

She smiled, embarrassed. “Well, I didn’t expect to find you here. I'm used to taking care of myself.”

“I’m sure of _that,”_ he said, looking her up and down. “You okay?”

Lara's looks were really unfortunate. Her green hospital robe was torn and splattered with blood, her wrists and ankles skinned, her cheekbone swollen and her hair really matted. Not to mention the dark circles around her eyes, her gray, clammy skin and her blue lips. And that smell of formaldehyde. “I'm perfect,” she replied proudly, raising her chin.

“I see,” Kurtis said, unconvinced. “We better move quickly. That crazy Barbie-looking scientist has activated an alarm, as you can hear. We’ll have Gunderson and his fellas soon running around here.”

Lara grabbed his arm. “The Periapt! We can't leave without it!”

“You think there's time for that? We'd be lucky if we manage to get outta here!”

“With or without you, I'm going to get the Periapt,” she insisted. “If we lose it we lose everything.” She turned and walked down the aisle with a determined step, or at least that was her intention. Instead, after a few steps her strength failed and she clung to the wall to avoid falling on the ground.

“You're _so_ stubborn, Miss Croft,” Kurtis sighed, and gallantly offered his arm. “C'mon, lean on me. We'll do this together, since I’m _not_ gonna lose you again.”

 

* * *

 

Gunderson jumped from the couch when he heard the alarm and left the hall, trying to ignore the pain in his stitched hand. He met Karel, who came very calmly along the corridor, apparently not caring about his clothes that were splattered with his white blood, though no wound was visible on him. “It's a signal from Boaz,” he said to the mercenary. “As expected, the Lux Veritatis has come for Lara Croft.”

“I'll gather my men.”

“Too late. He called the police. They're coming now.”

 _Trent…you fucking bastard!_ “What should we do?”

“Safeguard the Periapt and the Shards. Load them onto a truck and send them to our base in Moscow.”

“What about those two?”

“I'll take care of them...in due time.” He disappeared like a wisp of vapor that vanishes into thin air.

 

* * *

 

“The Library!” Lara exclaimed, pointing forwards.

They were crossing a transition zone; the white tiles of the lab turned into walls of old wallpaper. Guided by Kurtis, who already knew the place, Lara had guessed it would the place to hide valuable artefacts. She expected her assumptions to be right... then they heard someone shuffling papers in a nearby office.

Lara, still leaning on her partner, searched his holster and quickly pulled out the Boran X. “Hey!” He protested. “What the…?”

Lara silenced him by putting a finger on his lips. Then she winked at him and crept forwards, peering discreetly around the door frame.

There was a lanky, pale man who was hastily gathering papers. Lara immediately spotted the notes she wrote in Al-Fayoum, so she didn't waste any more time deciding.

The man was surprised to see a bruised woman pointing at him with a gun. “Miss Croft, I guess,” he said politely, his voice reminiscent of a snake hissing.

“Well guessed,” she replied. “Whom do I have the honor to target?”

“Luther Rouzic, librarian and keeper of the Cabal’s archives,” he said. “And I must admit that since I checked your theories about the Periapt, I'm a big fan of yours.”

“Well said. _My theories_. Bring them back to me, along with the Periapt and the Shards. Make me lose my patience and I'll blow your brains out.”

Rouzic smiled slightly. “Come on, lady. You’re so weak you can barely hold that gun. I doubt you'd even be able to pull the trigger.”

“If she can’t, which I doubt,” Kurtis intervened, entering the room and standing next to Lara, “I'll shoot you myself. Now do as she says.”

The archivist's glass eye glittered at the light of the lamp. “You’re wasting your time,” he hissed, “I haven’t got those artefacts. They have been moved.”

“Where?”

“Perhaps Moscow. I _really_ don’t know, Lux Veritatis warrior, and I _simply_ don't care. Nothing of that matters now, because I’ve discovered the True Option.” He threw his head back and laughed out loud in a boorish way. Lara and Kurtis exchanged a look of concern. “Oh, no, I haven’t told _Meister_ Karel about that,” a hint of fun shone in his one eye, “nor will I tell you. No, my friends, Luther Rouzic gives nothing for free. The knowledge is mine, so simple that it seems incredible. Your brilliant research has helped me, Amazon. You’re really clever, but you still need to put together the final pieces.”

As he spoke, he pulled a flask. Kurtis understood too late what he was about to do. He threw himself upon him and even tore the skin of his hands, but was unable to prevent him drinking from the bottle.

“What about you, my friend?” The archivist said with sarcasm. “Do you also want some poison?”

“Poison!” Shouted Lara, “The True Option! Why take it to the grave?”

Rouzic had fallen on his chair after the push and didn't get up again. His body began to quiver with spasms and convulsions. It was a fast-acting poison. “For revenge,” he gurgled. “The knowledge is mine. The key is in my mind. I betray the Cabal with honor. They blinded my eye. Now leave me, my destiny is death.”

Kurtis grabbed him by the lapels and began to shake him like a rag doll: “Then die if that’s what you want!” He shouted in his face. “Just tell us the damn key!”

The librarian rolled his eyes and foaming at the mouth, began to shout like a madman: “The True Option is the mother of all religions! The Supreme Command! Everything and nothing at the same time! It’s so simple and so complex at once. You want to know? Read, Amazon! Read my writings! In them you’ll find it!” His voice suddenly cut off, and after a couple of spasms, he went still.

Kurtis released him and stood up. “One bastard less in the world,” he said solemnly, wiping the foam off his liner.

Lara was already at the desk, quickly collecting all the papers he had on it. She rolled and stuffed them in a cardboard cylinder used to store maps she'd just found. “He wouldn’t have told us anyway,” she said. “It would've been too easy.”

Suddenly they heard a distant rumble in some section, then shots and hurried footsteps.

“C'mon, Lara,” Kurtis said. “They’re already in here.”

She slung the cylinder on her back and left hurriedly. “What's all that fuss?”

“I called the police.”

“You’re mad!”

“Maybe, but when they see the gore exhibition set up by these Cabal sick fucks, they’ll forget about you for a while. Surely the Czech police have already discovered the Strahov and will be aware of this issue.”

Reluctantly, Lara had to admit he was right.

The Cabal base was in havoc. Police and Gunderson’s men ran through the halls shooting and chasing each other. The Laboratory rooms were now open, and the patients still able to walk were fleeing or being released. Lara and Kurtis avoided that _pandemonium_ and tried to seek a less crowded way of exit.

 

* * *

 

At the same time, another person tried to escape without being seen. Giselle was running through the corridors as if chased by a ghost. She'd seen the police agents and didn’t need to be a genius to guess that if they found her, her brilliant career would come to an end.

A single idea was on her mind: she needed to rescue _something_ before fleeing. Something so important to her that under no circumstances should it fall into the police’s hands.

She reached a door and feverishly swiped her identification card. Then she entered. That section was called The Incubator, where Giselle had bred some specimens, crude attempts of anthropomorphic _Nephilia_ , very different from her sister Kristina’s Proto, a zoomorphic hybrid. Unfortunately, none of those specimens were alive at that moment. At Karel’s command, every one of them had been destroyed.

All of them but one.

Dr. Boaz opened a cryogenic tank and took out a small test tube with a bluish liquid. She carefully placed it in a small cooler and hung it from her shoulder. “Come on, my little one,” she murmured fondly. And she left the Incubator at full speed.

 

* * *

 

Lara tried to push the door, but it was firmly closed. She took a deep breath and prepared to open it with a kick, but before her foot touched the door, it burst into pieces. She turned sharply and glared accusingly at Kurtis, who was dropping his still extended hand. “You’re a killjoy,” she snapped.

“You ever let anyone help you?”

The door led into a lorry park, similar to where Lara had crossed to enter the Strahov in Prague. There were, however, several empty spots, and the large warehouse door opening out to the cold streets proclaimed that a truck had just left.

“Well, let’s see if you're so eager to help,” she said turning towards Kurtis. “Is there any way for you to find out _which_ truck carries the Periapt and _where_ it is now more or less?”

“Of course,” he replied, amazed at her cunning. “But…I'm not used to doing this in public.”

“Oh,” Lara said, rolling her eyes, then she turned slowly. “In that case, I won't interfere with your privacy, Mr. Trent.”

“Whatever,” he growled. Then he stretched his arms and closed his eyes.

Lara turned slowly again to look at him. Somehow, _he was no longer there_ , although she saw him with her own eyes, stiff and breathing heavily, his body wrapped in an orange glow aura faintly shining, almost unnoticeable to the eyes. She took a step towards him and stretched a hand out. Her amazement increased when feeling a strange warmth in her fingers. As unbelievable as it seemed, Kurtis released both light and heat, like a star, the heat being more intense than the dim glow.

And then Lara noticed the contrast. Karel. The Nephilim was cold. When she had him close to her, it almost made her teeth chatter. His aura was freezing. _Kurtis was fire. Karel was ice._

Suddenly, he staggered as if having taken a hit. Instinctively, Lara grabbed him, but released him instantly, screamed and shook her hand. “You're burning!” She gasped, astonished.

Kurtis took a few moments to react. He shook his head and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Don’t touch me!” He finally said. “Never put a hand on me when _I’m out!_ ”

She shook her hand until relieved from the burning sensation and said: “Okay. Guess you don’t want to answer some questions bugging me right now.”

“It’s hard to deny anything to you, Lara.”

She shook her head and looked at him with a mischievous smile. “Anything?”

“For real.”

“Then you won’t deny we need to leave this horrible place. Let's go after that truck I guess you've just seen and we’ll get the Periapt back. Then there will be time for questions.”

 

* * *

 

 _“_ _Mein Gott!”_ Said one of the German officers. “They’re quartered!” Then the poor man turned and stumbled out of the mortuary, fell forward and began to vomit. Another one fainted as a result of overbearing formalin smell. And several of them had experienced nervous breakdowns, even though they were trained for their profession.

After several shootings and with military backup, the police had rounded up and arrested the mercenaries. But there was no trace of Karel, Gunderson, or even Giselle. They did find Friedrich and Luther Rouzic’s corpses, though. They also arrested the other staff and took the unfortunate “patients” to a real hospital.

Some of them would die soon. Others would never recover from the horrific aftermath of experiments and operations. Twenty wouldn't awake from the comatose state. The rest wouldn't even walk again.

One veteran officer, descendant of German Jews, said: “If my father were still alive, he'd define this monstrosity with a single word: _Mauthausen.”_

Inspector Kohler nodded, sorrowful. “You need to get in touch with the Czech and French police brigades. This is related to _The Monstrum_ and the Strahov case in Prague.”

The veteran added: “Lara Croft, surely. We found her prints on the neck of a warden’s corpse.”

“I'm afraid, Ottonegger, you’re accusing the wrong person.”

“Inspector?”

“Lara Croft is not _The Monstrum_. She can’t be. This newly-defined Nazi massacre is not the work of one person. At least not by someone like her. I think the responsible one for this atrocity is someone we haven't identified yet.”


	21. Lara’s Defense

On the highway out of Munich, a green truck covered with orange canvas was driving at full speed through the flow of abundant traffic. Within a car-length away and going just as fast there was a magnificent motorbike, driven by a man of austere countenance. Sitting behind him and clinging to his waist was a woman who stuck out like a blood stain in the snow, for she was wearing a hospital robe and carried signs of abuse. Unfortunately, they had no time to worry about those details.

“Get as close as you can next to the truck,” Lara yelled in Kurtis' ear to be heard over the traffic noise. “Just saw a loose strap on the canvas roof. I’ll climb it.”

“You sure you can do it?”

“I can,” she gritted her teeth. “I _must.”_ Fortunately, she felt much better now. Her body’s numbness had disappeared and the pounding headache had subsided a little. What she was about to do was difficult and risky, and would've required her full range of skills, but she had to get by in her current status.

Kurtis brought the motorbike beside the truck, coming dangerously close to the huge wheels. Luckily, the co-pilot was distracted and didn’t notice him. Hanging over the side was a loose belt from the canvas covering the top. Lara reached out and grabbed it. After confirming it was well fixed and safe, she grabbed on with the other hand, jumped off the bike, and planted her feet along the side of the truck.

A violent gust of air almost made her fall, but she clung tightly to the strap. Another gust of wind completely undid her braid. The long copper hair floated around her face like a cloud, which looked beautiful but meant a nuisance. She climbed up and reached the truck’s roof. Looking around, she noticed several drivers watching her with a stunned expression, as if wondering if _that_ was some kind of hidden camera prank.

Crawling carefully, Lara found the spot where the canvas was loosened and jumped inside. She was surprised not to find anyone after expecting a fight: there were only a few scattered boxes in the darkened compartment, which she checked as quick as the wind. _“_ _Eureka!”_ She uttered when uncovering one. There was the Periapt, and next to it a small leather case with the Shards finely arranged.

Having nothing better to use, she wrapped the crystal sphere and the three daggers in an old cloth. She tied this bundle to her back. Then she climbed outside and made a sign to Kurtis, who approached again.

Lara slipped over the side of the truck and began to sag using the loose strap. And then the co-pilot noticed her. Through the mass of hair floating in front of her face, Lara saw him pulling out a revolver and targeting her. She pushed off the truck to dodge the shot, however, and the bullet whizzed past her shoulder.

Kurtis swerved the bike and approached to the truck cabin. Before the passenger could fire again, he pulled out the Boran and pointed it directly at his head. The truck driver almost lost control of the vehicle when his partner fell upon him with a bullet hole in his forehead. He immediately grasped the walkie-talkie and yelled: “Boss! They’re here!”

Meanwhile Lara had dropped back onto the bike. She almost lost her balance and fell to the hard pavement, but finally she managed to right herself and hold on to Kurtis.

“Good work, Lara.” He congratulated.

“Thank…you,” she gasped, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “It was...nothing.”

“Uh-oh. We have a visitor. Guess who.”

Through the rear view mirror, Lara saw another intimidating car approaching them. “Dammit,” she said. “Our friend again.”

Kurtis accelerated and glanced in the mirror. “Is it my imagination or is that a bazooka?”

Lara turned her head. Despite her long hair obstructing her view, she would've had to have been blind to not see the big bully sticking out of the sunroof and hefting a huge metal cylinder on his shoulder.

“Confirmed!” She said. “But he _can’t_ be crazy enough to fire a rocket in the middle of the traffic at the exit of a capital city!”

“Believe me, he’s _that_ crazy,” Kurtis said, stepping on the gas. “Hold on, Miss Croft. Time to move it.”

With Gunderson's car behind them in chase, the thug grabbed the sides of the window and grasped the rocket launcher decisively, gritting his teeth as he felt the pangs in his mangled hand.

It was difficult to drive on the crowded highway, so Kurtis zig-zagged around the vehicles at breakneck speed, prompting a barrage of whistles, shouts, insults, swearing, curses, and risen fists by the other drivers. Lara, still in the mood for some sarcastic fun, blew kisses and waved to the outraged citizens, displaying her most charming smile.

“Yeah. Smile, bitch,” grunted Gunderson. “Now we'll see what you do with this.” And fired.

“Kurtis!” Lara yelled. “Rocket at six o’clock!”

He swerved to the right. The rocket whizzed past them and hit a bus, exploding it on impact and causing a huge fireball.

There was havoc on the highway. Braking, skidding, collisions, overturning...a chain reaction which blocked that stretch of road with a bunch of broken, collided vehicles. The motorbike went beside the burning bus. Lara gave a cry of despair and buried her face in Kurtis’s back. No way out: to die burnt alive or to die crushed by piles of burning junk. What would come first?

At that moment she evoked Werner’s face, so many years ago, when she almost fell into a pit of spikes that he saved her from ...and then from a huge stone that nearly crushed her too. She could almost hear his sarcastic voice; a tone she'd learned very well. _Where are you going, girl? Have some order. One kind of death at a time, please, without merging them._

But that time, as now, Lara didn't die. Suddenly, she felt as if _rising_ in the air, an unbearable heat around her and, seconds later, a blast of cold air. She opened her eyes. The motorbike continued its race amidst the traffic, but the brutal accident had been left behind.

“What the… _what have you done?”_ She gasped, looking back. “How did you dodge the fire?”

Kurtis winked at her reflection in the rear view mirror. “I’m a Lux Veritatis, remember?”

 

* * *

 

“Inspector Köhler, right? Nice to meet you. I'm Agent Dupuis, Department of Homicides in Paris. I come as a representative of the French police.”

Köhler got up and shook hands with the agent, then looked at his partner. “This is Inspector Radetz, from the Czech police.”

“Thanks, Dupuis,” said the other. “I come to hear what you've to say about this horrific case. As you know, just a month ago we found authentic underground horrors in a place known as the Strahov, in Prague. Everything seems to be related to the terrible events in Paris: the murder of several victims, including the renowned archaeologist Werner Von Croy. I hope you've something worth finding.”

Without deigning to reply, he led the German inspector through the entire Cabal base. His partners were astonished and horrified when they visited the Laboratory.

“This is horrendous,” Radetz said. “There was something identical in Prague, the Sanitarium. I think we've stumbled upon the trail of an ancient cult known as the Cabal.”

“Let's stop talking nonsense,” said Dupuis. “We found evidence of Lara Croft’s presence in Prague and in the Louvre. And she’s not alone. It seems that she's together with a not yet identified man. We must stop this brutal killer before she commits another atrocity.”

Köhler coughed and said: “Before you continue with your theory, you should listen to three witnesses who claim to have met and talked with the suspect a few days ago.”

Dupuis and Radetz looked at each other, astonished, and followed the German hastily through the halls. They arrived to a room equipped as a receiver with three people waiting, who stood in salute as the agents entered. Despite being escorted by policemen, none of them seemed dangerous: a man with glasses and a look of condescension, another rather plump man with tanned skin, and a young woman of Oriental features and sad eyes.

“So you've collaborated with the suspect...” Radetz started, but immediately the man with glasses cut him off and said boldly: “Stop making accusations, agent. I'm Professor Vladimir Ivanoff. This is the renowned Egyptologist Jean-Yves and she's Miss Selma Al-Jazeera, one of the best archaeologists of this time. We've come to testify in defense of Lara Croft.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's images are amazing sketches by Adayka.


	22. The Dreamcatcher

Somewhere on the border between Switzerland and Germany, a couple of hapless fugitives sought without success to leave the country without drawing the attention of the authorities, as Lara was still wanted by the police.

Nowhere in Europe would be safe enough to hide them from the police. Nowhere in the world was safe enough to hide them _from Karel_. It was the perfect moment to be swallowed by the earth - which didn't happen, of course.

That afternoon Kurtis told her all that happened since Gunderson kidnapped her from Egypt. He'd tried to sidestep the issue, but finally had to reveal the slaughter. Upon learning of Putai's death, Lara fell into a prolonged and painful silence, which lasted for the next hour of driving. After a while, exhausted, she laid her head on Kurtis’ back and closed her eyes, feeling silent rage devouring her from the inside.

Putai, more beloved than a sister, despite cultural barriers; Putai, who saved her from a slow death under the pyramid...Putai, gunned down under Egypt's hot sun. The shaman had brought her life, and Lara had brought death to her and her people, the same people who helped her when she'd nowhere to go.

“Lara,” Kurtis gasped, “if you keep squeezing me like _that_ you’ll crush my ribs.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, and loosened her arms. She was so focused on her misery that she hadn’t noticed.

Kurtis had made no attempt to comfort to her until then, knowing that most times one wants solitude in such a case. But then he told her: “Believe me, Lara, _I know_ how it feels when you’re responsible for the death of a loved one. But someone taught me the dead don’t want your tears or your regrets, but for you to fulfil your debt to them. I promised Putai two things. I've already done the first one. The second one is only a matter of time.”

Lara nodded. She already knew what Putai had requested in the last moments of her life - but she couldn't help but feel furious. “Putai and her people have died for _nothing,”_ she said bitterly. “In the end that bastard caught me. If I'd given up when I had the chance...”

“Gunderson would've killed them the same. Lara, he was once my friend and I worked for him for a long time. He’s an unmitigated liar. After that, he would've humiliated you until you regretted your stupidity. It's better this way. Stop tormenting yourself for your friend’s death. She's at peace now, while you and me are still standing in the middle of all this mess.” Then he added quickly: “Did I tell you the Golden Seal has changed again?”

Lara's head went off his back while saying irritably: “Of course not! And what is the unique honor of this revelation?”

“It changed just as I got to Munich,” he said, ignoring his partner's sarcasm. “As I see you’re tired, I’ll get to the point: the map shows us Meteora valley in Thessaly, a province of Greece.”

She was already doing calculations. “Meteora...I got it! The Meteora monasteries. Those are located over hundreds of meters high on lonely crags. In all likelihood, that’s our next destination.”

“But first...” Kurtis turned left on his motorbike and parked into what appeared to be...

“A roadside motel?” Lara said, not hiding her disappointment.

“Sorry, M'lady _,_ but right now I don’t have the address to the Ritz,” he replied sarcastically. “Another time maybe.”

That was the first time he called her ‘m'lady’. She would never forget.

In fact, Lara was so worn out she could've slept on a stone.

“Actually, the less time we're here, the better. And it wouldn't hurt to tidy you up a bit.”

Lara winced and patted her tangled hair. “So how awful do I look now?”

“Well...if you want my humble opinion, you _never_ look awful. But people are gonna think badly of me.” And he adjusted the rear view mirror to make her look at herself. Lara was almost scared of seeing her own face. She looked like she was dead and her swollen cheekbone was worse than ever, and then there was the matter of her torn clothes and matted hair.

Kurtis' assumptions were correct. Lara had to rush to the room after the motel customers and staff looked at her shocked and began to throw accusing glances at Kurtis, thinking he was a scoundrel who'd just beaten his girlfriend.

Once she took a shower, Lara healed and bandaged her wrists and ankles. Then she spread an ointment on the bruised cheek. Actually, that was _nothing_ compared with what Gunderson had got. After changing clothes, she left the bathroom and fell full length on the narrow single bedroom.

Kurtis, silent as usual, was sitting on the floor by the door, sharpening the Chirugai’s blades as if nothing else mattered.

“Are you staying there all night?” Lara asked sleepily.

“I'd take a shower, but I might have _someone_ spying on me behind the door.”

Lara stuck her tongue out in reply. Within minutes she was asleep.

Kurtis remained sat in the dark. His purpose was to stay close to Lara in case some _angelic_ creature dared to appear. But he was so exhausted he soon fell asleep too.

 

 

 

Next morning, Kurtis awoke feeling like he’d been trampled by a bulldozer. He stretched while feeling painful pangs in his back and muttered: “I hate this job. All the hassles and none of the perks.”

“Really?” Said a soft voice.

He opened his eyes. Lara, dressed in jeans and jacket, was lying face down with elbows on the bed and resting her chin in the palm of one hand while the other was twisting her braid. “Good morning, my faithful sentinel,” she added with a sly smile.

Of course, sometimes it was worth waking up pained if it was accompanied by such a charming vision.

Lara dropped her sight again to the papers. She hadn't been idle, studying the Periapt’s symbols again, courageous and consistent.

“You must be bored of looking at symbols,” Kurtis said, rising and stretching again.

“Never. This is my job, and there's nothing more fascinating than a riddle I can't solve. Now I've to start discarding symbols. Rouzic assumed, like me, that the Periapt is older than all the religions depicted in it.”

“That makes no sense. How is it possible for it to have symbols of religions born centuries after it?”

“That's what I'm trying to figure out. But there's no doubt it shows all religions. Maybe someone had gradually carved the symbols...or these could have been added by another way. Everything is possible with an artefact that can't be destroyed.”

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door: “Open!” Yelled a commanding voice. They froze. While exchanging an alarmed glance, one thought crossed their minds at the time: they had found them. They had fallen into the police's hands.

Lara jumped out of bed as driven by a spring. She looked around for an escape route. There was the window, which fortunately wasn't very high. Kurtis threw her the cardboard cylinder with the documents and the bundle with the Periapt and the Shards. Lara put it all on her back and grabbed the window frame when the door began to pound from several repeated blows. She jumped out by the time it opened.

Upon landing on the ground, Lara looked up and whispered: “Kurtis!” But he neither replied nor jumped after her.

She heard a person entering in the room. _“_ _Kaliméra_ , Mr. Trent,” an unfamiliar voice said, speaking in Greek. “I've been searching for you for a long time.”

 

* * *

 

Kurtis hoisted the gun which was pointing directly at that individual's face, who didn't seem impressed. He wasn't a cop, that was clear. He was a young man of pale complexion and dark eyes, wearing a black hooded robe which gave him an air of austerity. “You can drop the weapon,” the man said calmly. “I'll hurt neither you nor your elusive friend.”

“Who says I can even understand what you’re saying?”

“You know how to speak Greek perfectly, Mr. Trent. Your father taught you well. And you had a chance to prove that when you faced Karolis on the boat.”

“How do you know that?” Kurtis replied, now speaking in Greek.

“I know a lot about you,” replied the other, and then he pulled out a small object from his pocket and dangled it before his eyes. “Do you recognize this?”

Kurtis saw something he recognized right away, but whose presence there he couldn't understand: it was a small Navajo amulet. He knew perfectly the smoothness of its wooden hoop, the intertwined threads, and the softness of its tiny dangling feathers. He knew every nook and cranny of that object, because he'd played with it often, for many years in his childhood...

 

* * *

 

 _Marie Cornel drew her beautiful black hair away from her shoulders and lifted the small amulet from her neck. Then she playfully swung it before her son's eyes._ _“_ _What do you see, Kurtis?”_

 _The boy blinked and reached out to touch the hanging beads and feathers._ _“_ _I see a spider web.”_

 _Marie laughed and her laughter was like a fountain. Whatever he said, she always laughed. Neither uncertainty nor the difficult situation they were forced to live in managed to erase that never-ending smile from her cheerful face._ _“_ _It's an amulet of protection. A dreamcatcher. My people always hanged it over their babies' cribs to filter their dreams. That kept them protected from evil spirits, for the dreamcatcher only allows what is good to pass through.” She put it in her son’s hands._ _“_ _This was hanging over your crib, and before that it was on mine, and before that your grandfather’s. Unfortunately, it can only protect you while you're a child.”_

 _“_ _Is it true it filters dreams?”_ _H_ _e_ _said, hanging it from his neck._

 _The mother smiled again. Her lively black eyes, so full of life and contrasts, sparkled like two stars._ _“_ _Nothing has power by itself, Kurtis. We're the ones who give power to things.”_

 _“_ _So... why do we need amulets?”_

 _“_ _Someday you'll understand.”_

 

* * *

 

He unconsciously dropped his arm to his side. Suddenly, the Boran seemed heavier than usual. He was confused, feeling like a child again. “Where did you get that from?” He demanded more than asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

The man was still swinging the dreamcatcher. “She gave it to us. Not willingly, of course...”

“If you’ve dared to hurt her...” Kurtis muttered through clenched teeth.

Maybe for what he suggested or because it sounded so threatening, the man stepped back and shook his head, horrified. “By God’s name, no! We don't hurt anyone, that’s against our faith. But she assured if you saw it, you’ll agree to listen to us. She hurt to let it go, but of course, it was our only guarantee.”

Kurtis's ears were ringing. None of that made sense to him. Everything was madness. “Give it to me!” He said abruptly, reaching out. “It’s _not_ yours.”

The man then gave it back quickly, as if fearing that Kurtis might bite him. He quickly put it in his pocket.

“Now you’ll let us help?”

“Maybe after I know who you are.”

“We're the ones who saved your life.”

“You think I haven't noticed _that_? Start by telling me who the hell you _are_.”

That guy had broken into the room like a police officer, but now he looked unsure. He swallowed hard and said as firmly as he could: “I come as a representative of Minos Axiotis, _hegumenos_ of Ayios Stephanos’ monastery at Meteora.”

 

* * *

 

Lara wondered what to do. She had both documents and artefacts, so she was able to escape...but how could she leave Kurtis in the lurch, he who had crossed sea and land to find her?

She was hesitating to go back into the motel, when Kurtis exited followed out by a silent hooded shadow. Lara approached with caution, without losing sight of the stranger.

“We're going to Greece,” Kurtis said.

“Who's this?” She said, pointing boldly at the monk.

The aforementioned nodded in greeting and said smiling: “I'm Father Nikos Kavafis. The _hegumenos_ has sent me to lead us to Meteora.”

“Why should we trust him?” Lara said, looking at Kurtis.

“I'll explain to you later,” he whispered.

Lara turned to the monk. Kurtis might have his reasons, but she wouldn't be so easily convinced. “We're near the border of two countries at the heart of Europe and not really likely to reach Greece without being found by some of our pursuers, which include the police and a Nephilim.”

The monk didn't seem to grasp her sarcasm and said, nodding gravely: “Indeed, your situation is dire.”

“Then explain to me how an Orthodox monk will take us to Greece without raising suspicion.”

Nikos didn't answer. He began to walk quietly, and they had no choice but to follow him. When Lara was already thinking of giving him a few shakes, he pointed ahead: “This banality of modern times will take us to Athens. From there, the rest will be done by road.”

Lara and Kurtis looked at each other, stunned. There, on an esplanade, waited a helicopter. What kind of Orthodox monastery was provided with that?

“Don't worry,” Nikos smiled, recovering his confidence. “All concerns will be solved in due time. Father Minos is eager to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hegumenos" is the Greek word for the leader of an Orthodox Christian monastic community, like the abbot in the Catholic monasticism.  
> Chapter image by Adayka


	23. The Seal’s Story

The first time a traveller beholds Meteora's mystical valley they are immediately seduced by its grandeur and solemnity. It can already be seen from the Thessalian town of Kalambaka, beyond a vertical ascent, culminating in a belt of rocks in mysterious grey cylindrical shapes. In the center of the valley, on very high cliff walls, smooth and vertical, stands the isolated monastery of Ayios Stefanos. It kneeled on the hard rock like an altar, and its seeming inaccessibility would impatient a novice adventurer. It dazzled Lara and Kurtis, who observed the silent place under the scorching sun of the purest Mediterranean climate.

“How are we supposed to climb up there?” He asked.

“From where we are now in the town of Kastraki, it’s ten kilometres to the monastery,” said Nikos. “The only way to get to it is by going down to the valley floor and climbing the rock. Our brothers built the monastery in 1138 with the aim of shutting out the world, an aspect that, as you can see, remains today.”

The monk walked briskly, gliding gently over the rocks. Lara started to follow him, but Kurtis stood where he was, shielding his eyes with his hand and looking with despair at the rugged enclave. “Damn monks,” he sighed with exhaustion. “Apparently there's no other spot to place a fucking monastery.”

Lara turned towards him, peering over her sunglasses and smiled. “Just curious, Mr. Trent: Where's your sense of adventure?” And she turned and started to descend to the valley, leaping nimbly from rock to rock like a graceful antelope.

The valley had more than twenty monasteries, most of which had become museums which tourists could visit through hanging bridges suspended between the rocks. Only two monasteries were still places of meditation and prayer: Ayia Triada and Ayios Stefanos. They weren't for visiting and therefore there was no suspended bridges allowing access. In theory, nobody went to and nobody came from them.

When arriving at the foot of the towering rock, Nikos cupped his hands and issued a signature call, which started echoes in the quiet valley. A few minutes later a pouch made of strong nets tied to a rope descended towards him.

“Whoa,” Lara said. “Thought I'd seen it all with the chopper, but no doubt _this_ is advanced technology.”

Nikos threw her an annoyed glance, but she smiled cheekily. The monk entered into the net as he said: “This is the elevator for monks. It can only be used by the monastic community. As foreign visitors, you'll have to climb.” And he rudely pointed to some steps carved into the almost vertical wall. Then the rope pulled tight and Nikos began to rise within the netting.

“Great.” Kurtis muttered. “Next time how about you _don’t_ make fun on their elevator.”

“At _that_ speed we’ll arrive before him,” she said. “There’s about ten minutes of climbing, more or less.”

The upbeat tone of her voice exasperated him. “Looks like your feet aren’t aching.”

“Oh how whiny,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “C'mon, Kurtis, show me the legionnaire who lives in you.”

He grumbled under his breath, and began climbing the rock. Lara followed him, still smiling.

 

* * *

 

A heart was pounding hastily in Minos Axiotis’ chest when Nikos solemnly bowed to him and reported the newcomers' presence. He left the monastery to receive them, surrounded by some of the younger monks, and watched in silence how Kurtis saved the last step. After climbing, his palms were skinned and slightly bleeding. He looked at his wounds and, without more, he wiped his hands on his pants.

 _Indeed, we can't deny he's Konstantin Heissturm's son_ , Minos thought at feeling those blue eyes piercing him. Years ago his father had looked at him with such challenge and distrust, without uttering a word.

After him arrived a woman whom he'd never seen before, but he immediately recognized her. Graceful and slender, lithe and lovely, she lifted her chin and said: “I'm Lara Croft.” With the haughty tone in which she said that, she could've easily meant _I’m Helen of Troy_ or _I’m the Queen of Sheba_.

Minos stepped forward and smiled: “Nice to finally meet you, Miss Croft.”

Lara looked around his black robe and the large crucifix hanging from his neck. She'd recognized his voice at first, but took time to look at the _hegumenos_ before answering: “So you're Minos Axiotis, our phone guide,” she said sarcastically. “I hardly could've imagined you like this.”

“Times are strange, Miss Croft. Our community has been forced to break some rules and use extraordinary resources for extraordinary situations.” Then he looked at Kurtis, who hadn't moved an inch and remained still without saying a word. “I’m really pleased to see you recovered, Mr. Trent.”

“I remember you,” he said then. “You were at the Strahov. You came to me surrounded by armed monks.”

Minos nodded. “There are causes worth the fight and risk.”

As he spoke, a monk presented a bundle of black clothes to Lara, which she accepted without questioning. She'd visited hundreds of sacred places throughout the world and had learned that, regardless of the religion, women weren't welcomed unless they follow strict dressing rules. In Meteora, any woman who would venture into that silent world of praying men was required to wear all-black ankle length skirts and long sleeves, to stifle any hint of female beauty which was forbidden in the monastery. But as they could see when Lara came back dressed in those robes, no dark clothing managed to drown out her charming aura.

“Welcome to Meteora,” Minos said then. “This is where your journey ends.”

“How do you know...?” Lara began, but then the _hegumenos_ stopped her and turned to Kurtis: “If I’m right, the Golden Seal has revealed the latest location. It already served its purpose and the spirit which guided it has vanished.”

Kurtis looked then at the ring, and after a moment of surprise, showed it to Lara. There was no longer any map on the golden surface. It had disappeared, giving way to an empty space, a polished square without any sign or imperfection.

 

* * *

 

The monastery was a corner for silence and meditation. In that place only the songs of the monks were heard, along with the whispering rush of their sandals on the floor and the whistling of the wind. No other sound came to this peaceful haven, even when other monasteries were packed for sightseeing. Nothing disturbed the daily routine in Ayios Stefanos.

Once the reception ended, Lara and Kurtis were left alone with the _hegumenos_. He led them to the inner yard and started to answer the barrage of questions with which Lara harassed him, while Kurtis, leaning against the wall, kept to his traditional silence.

“You seem to know much about the Golden Seal and the Periapt’s symbols,” she said. “More than what the Lux Veritatis and Karel himself knew. You're an Orthodox monastic community, but you’re also more than that. Am I wrong?”

“Only partly,” Minos said with the utmost courtesy. “In fact, we’re monks at God’s service, and as such we were born. But we're also warden. At first we had little or nothing to do with the Lux Veritatis, but in time, circumstances made us allies.”

“Wardens of what?”

“The Angels’ Oracle.”

Lara arched an eyebrow, as if asking for further explanation. The _hegumenos_ pointed to the cardboard cylinder hanging over her shoulder and said: “You've shown me many papers, written by the Cabal’s archivist and yourself. The studies are brilliant, worthy of skilled people like you. But in ancient times, the world didn't have archaeologists or specialists in deciphering the sacred mysteries. We, as monks of Meteora, are the wardens of an ancient power, stronger than human mind: we're the wardens of those who know the True Option.”

Lara stood up for a moment and then started walking around the narrow yard, with her robe fluttering around her ankles. “Are you telling me that you’ve always known what the True Option was? That _everything_ we've done has been for _nothing_?”

“Oh no, of course not. No mortal or semi-mortal, like the creature that haunts you, knows the True Option. Only the Angels’ Oracle knows. We, the monks of Meteora, protect the entrance to the Oracle.”

Lara stopped wandering, put her hands on her hips, and said with narrowed eyes: “Whatever. I've been kidnapped and used as a laboratory guinea pig. People I cared for have been killed. I’ve endangered others' lives just by being near them. I’ve wracked my brain studying long lists of endless symbols, and almost killed myself in a traffic accident to recover these papers...and now an old fat monk tells me that by just consulting an oracle I can get the key, without having gone through _all_ _this_.”

Kurtis shook his head, disapproving Lara’s attitude, but she ignored him and stuck an angry glance on Minos, who held it without flinching. “The Oracle won’t disclose you the True Option. Its purpose is not to reveal, but to host it. You’re an explorer. As I've understood, discovering clues or using devices to be inserted in holes or keys to open doors is what you do. The True Option is a key, a symbol, call it whatever you want, but only knowing it won't make any difference. It's to the Oracle whom you should reveal the key, and then you must choose between Light and Darkness, in this case, between Mr. Trent and the demon lord who calls himself Karel.”

Minos spoke with patience and serenity, an attitude contrasted with Lara's, who seemed chased by a demon herself. _“_ _Who_ or _what_ is the Oracle?” She asked, crossing her arms.

“Neither a person, nor a thing. It's just the Oracle. It's here; beneath the ground we stand on now, in the crypt, where we bury our dead. It was already here when the monastery was built.”

“And you've spoken with this Oracle?”

The _hegumenos_ shook his head. “We're not worthy. There's only one person in the world who, by divine will, can summon the Oracle: The Amazon.”

She frowned and sat back, crossing her legs. “So it’s up to me,” she said. And suddenly she uncrossed her legs and stomped her foot on the floor. “Dammit! I bet that bastard Karel knows that! That’s why he let us escape from Munich. _He’s got me just where he wants again!_ ”

“Of course he knows. He's always known what he does. It's not easy to escape from a Nephilim's will, and their thoughts and attitudes are as strange as incomprehensible to us,” Minos said. “But you must know it’s you who has the last word. Neither Mr. Trent nor Karel can do any more for themselves. Now you've their lives in your hands.”

Lara looked at Kurtis, but he veered his gaze, as if all that had nothing to do with him. She thought in silence while nervously twisting her braid. Then she got out of the blue and said solemnly: “I need to be alone for a while.” She took the papers and left the cloister.

Minos watched her walk away. “Do you think she'll find the key?”

Kurtis took a few seconds to answer. “Of course. She’s the smartest person I ever met, and also the most stubborn. I don't think anyone can compare,” he added quietly, more to himself than to the _hegumenos_.

Minos sat quietly in one of the stone benches and watched the rectangle of sky above the small yard. “I guess you've have your own questions. But you’re pretty quiet. Your silence has been uneasy to me.”

“I _never_ open my mouth if I've nothing to say. Really, Lara’s slick enough to speak for the both of us.”

“That’s strange,” said the _hegumenos_ , still staring at the sky. “You know each other for just a month, but it seems as if you’ve spent many years together.”

Kurtis gave him a glance Minos couldn't decipher. He thought he'd say something about it, but instead he said: “Why you know so much about me, my father, and my life? I'm not very popular among mortals,” he said wryly.

Minos crossed his fingers and his aging face turned again to the sky as he said: “I met your father many years ago. I was still young, before I was elected as _hegumenos_. He was a tall man with strong shoulders and a powerful face, a man who commanded respect in a single glance. Like you. But you probably know all this.”

“Actually, I never knew much about him. He was always on the other side of the world, fighting Eckhardt and the Cabal, while I was running from one place to another with my mother. By the way,” he said, pulling out the dreamcatcher, “how did you find her?”

“She came to us. She knew more than she seemed to, and she'd no one to turn to. She wanted to warn you that the real danger wasn't Eckhardt, but Karel. So we went to the Strahov. We didn't expect to find you dying.”

“Typical of her to leave her shelter. Was she with you? Is she here?”

“No. We sent her back. We didn't want to risk her life.”

Kurtis nodded, playing with the little amulet. “Guess now I can say _thanks for saving my life.”_

“No need to thank me. You’re the one who's going to fight a great evil, delivering us and the rest of the world from it. But please, don’t think we helped you only for convenience, or because we felt sorry for your mother. Years ago, when I was just elected, Eckhardt attacked the monastery, trying to steal the Golden Seal.” His gaze was now on Kurtis’ ring, who was listening to him with great attention. “The Seal is not an artefact of your Order, nor is the Periapt. It had been here since ancient times. Traditions state that it was given by one of the four archangels to the first _hegumenos_ of the community, with the following words: _If ever the Light of Truth and the Fallen Angel clash and balance their forces so that only one of them will prevail, this ring will lead the way._ Today, nobody believes this. But indeed, the Seal has led you here, back to its home, after you knew Lady Loanna's tragic story and she put the Periapt in your hands.”

“And how did the Seal come to my father's hands?”

“I gave it to him. As I said, Eckhardt attacked our monastery and set it on fire. Then he began to kill our brothers, one by one, waiting for me to reveal where I was hiding the Seal. We would've all died, and me the last of them, if your father hadn't arrived then, confronted the Black Alchemist and defeated him, saving our lives. That's why I gave him the Seal. That's why we saved your life. I thought he was the chosen one, that the Archangel was referring to him as the Light, and the Alchemist as the Darkness.” He looked down and caressed his long beard. “I was wrong. Evil wasn't Eckhardt, but Karel. The last of the Lux Veritatis wasn't Konstantin Heissturm…it was you. His only son.”

Kurtis had taken off the ring and was spinning it between his fingers, caressing its polished golden surface. “Then I should give it back to you. It’s yours, after all.”

But Minos smiled and shook his head slowly. “No. The Seal was a gift and no gift should be returned. That's all you have left from your father. Keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter image by Adayka.


	24. The Angels’ Oracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image chapter is an edit made by my dear Luluvonv, a faithful reader from Wattpad

“The True Option,” muttered Lara. “The mother of all religions.”

Sitting on the windowsill of her cell, not caring the least about the huge abyss that was right next to her, the explorer crossed out symbols and let the papers fall at her feet, forming a scattered pile of sheets.

Focused on the task, she barely heard Kurtis arriving and leaning against the door frame, watching her in silence. She was now used to his discreet and reserved manners.

“Look at this,” she said, pointing to the sheet in which she was working. The last symbol left was the Cross. Lara crossed it out with a jerk of her pencil. “ _Bang_. Goodbye Christianity. Centuries of spirituality and faith destroyed in a second.”

“Don’t let the monks see you,” he said, looking over his shoulder.

She laughed and dropped the papers to the ground. Then she took another and relentlessly continued to work as she said: “You owe me some explanations. Start by telling me how the monk managed to convince you to follow him.”

Kurtis was also getting used to her outgoing and delightfully cheeky attitude, finding it as attractive as she found his mystery. “He gave me something that belongs to my mother,” he pulled out the amulet. “She’s Navajo. This belonged to her people for generations.”

“Who could've imagined?” Lara said. “Where is she? Is she as mysterious as you?”

“She’s a refugee on a reservation, with the rest of her people. In a place where Karel won't find her. Both of us have spent all our lives running away and hiding. It was the only way to survive. But not anymore.”

Lara crossed out the latest symbol and began to fan herself with the useless sheet. The heat was sweltering in the monastery even at that point – typical of Greek climate - and the heavy, black clothing she wore didn't contribute much to coolness.

“Huh...I've another question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why did your skin burn when you did... _that_ , back there in Munich?”

“Probably because you were close.”

She stopped fanning herself and glared at him. “That's very low of you,” she snapped.

“You think?” He replied, raising his eyebrows. In the corners of his lips hinted a smile.

Lara had enough. “Seems you like to play the role of the mysterious man, must be very proud of yourself. But you can't fool me with that. No, Mr. Trent, I remember perfectly well the scoundrel who disarmed me in the Louvre.”

He threw his head back and let out a spontaneous laugh, without malice. “Tell me, Miss Croft. Would you’ve preferred me to knock you out?”

She didn't answer, piercing him with her big brown eyes, while furiously twisting the sheet in her hands. “That would've been expected,” she said after a few seconds. “Nobody ever made me feel so... angry. So humiliated.”

“ _Humiliated?_ No, Lara, that wasn’t my intention _at all_. In fact, I was about to hit you, but I just couldn't. Only a brute would hit you, and I don't consider myself as such, despite what I may look like.”

Lara got up from the ledge and stood with dignity, her eyes sparkling. “So, how long will you go on with this?”

Kurtis looked at her. It seemed that her tone, rather than offending him, amused him. “And how long, Lara, will you keep pretending you don’t enjoy it?” And he turned and left the cell, leaving her open-mouthed.

 

* * *

 

The next day a monk came to tell the _hegumenos_ that "the stranger woman" was asking for him. It was clear the brothers weren't at all used to women within their walls, and the rigor with which they treated her almost bordered on rudeness, though she didn't seem to care.

_A true Amazon_ , thought Minos, looking at the strong woman wandering around the yard. When noticing him, she hastened to grab his arm with all informality: “I'd like to see the Oracle, _patéras_ Axiotis,” she said. “I'm used to examining my place of action before working on it.”

The _hegumenos_ smiled. It was said that nothing was sacred enough for that woman. Therefore, this faithful monastic community had rushed to close the chapel and the crypt, just in case. Lara would've felt insulted if she'd known about that, but in fact, Minos had been informed that the explorer had been seen prowling around that forbidden place last night. However, there was no broken lock, so that meant she still had some regards towards her hosts.

They descended into the darkness of the crypt, illuminated by a torch held by Lara, while helping the elder religious man to descend the slippery steps. There, where the sunlight didn't shine and the air was rarefied by moisture and putrefaction, laid the remains of all the monks who'd vowed and served since mediaeval times. As there was not enough space for so many bodies, and following the Orthodox ritual, only the heads were preserved as they were considered the vessels of wisdom and faith.

_Nice decor_ , Lara thought as they passed alongside walls full of ancient toothless skulls, each with its own name. Some were almost a pile of dust; others were more recent. Thousands of empty sockets watched them from their niches and seemed to come alive at the dancing light of the torch.

Finally, the corridor went down to a larger space. “We’ve arrived,” Minos announced.

Lara raised the torch and examined the place. It was a circular room reminding her of Cappadocia's burial chambers. The floor was bare rock and the vault was covered by a beautiful fresco of an angel surrounded by small seraphim. In the middle of the room there was a small stone altar, similar to the one in Al-Fayoum. In the centre of the altar there was a hollow, a small concavity capable of holding some water or something else. That was all.

“A very austere spot,” Lara said.

“God’s things are austere, my daughter. Luxury and pomp are sins of this century.”

Lara could've asked him what he thought about those beautiful gold and ivory icons in many Orthodox churches. But she decided to move on: _“_ _Patéras,_ I recall having heard the Oracle already existed before the monastery was built.”

“Indeed. Both this altar and the fresco room are just a place of remembrance. It's said the Archangel appeared here to deliver the Seal to the first _hegumenos_.”

“And that hole in the altar?”

“Haven't you guessed it, daughter? That's where you must put the Periapt.”

She looked at him, caught by surprise. “I thought the Periapt belonged to the Lux Veritatis.”

“And it belongs to them, or rather, it _belonged_ to them. But concerning the Periapt’s origins I can't say much, for I know nothing about it; only that it should be placed on the altar to summon the Oracle.”

Lara reached into the hole. Indeed, it had more or less the same size as the crystalline sphere. She rubbed the dust and cobwebs covering it. “Is there a secret code, spell or ritual? Or it’s just about placing the Periapt on it?”

“It's up to you to figure it out. I've already told you everything I know.”

“Great,” she muttered under her breath so the _hegumenos_ couldn’t hear it.

They went back outside and began to wander. Some scandalized novices looked at the scene: the holy and venerable father walking with a woman! Definitely, the times were degrading.

Minos, oblivious to that, looked around and asked: “Where's Mr. Trent?”

“Frankly, I neither know nor care,” Lara muttered through clenched teeth.

The _hegumenos_ looked at her, surprised. “I don’t know what he's done to upset you, my dear, but _of course_ you should care. So many things depend on him…as on you,” he sighed.

“How are you related with the Lux Veritatis?” Lara said, as if she hadn't heard him.

Minos sighed again. “At the beginning we weren’t. Our community was born in 1138, when the monasteries were erected in the valley. At first we took refuge here to escape from war and plague, but ended up by settling here permanently. It wasn't until two centuries later when the Order of the Lux Veritatis was born. They looked like humble knights of Christ, but they never became as famous as the Templars, the Hospitallers, or the Teutonic Order. In fact, I’m ignorant if the Lux Veritatis professed any religion or faith. Their task was actually to fight the Black Alchemist and the Cabal. But all was ruined when the Templars were destroyed. As you know, my dear, the Catholic Church, prompted by the French king's political interests, ordered the extermination of that order and burnt all members at the stake. Consequently, the Lux Veritatis were afraid and hid. The accusation of witchcraft with which the Templars were charged was, of course, a lie, but...what could they expect for themselves, if they had _such_ extraordinary powers?”

“Being accused of witchcraft in all fairness and crushed by the Church,” Lara said, and hastened to add, “the _Catholic_ one, of course.”

“They hid, disappearing from both political and social spheres. They placed their strongholds in remote and foreign places, even in infidel lands like Egypt. And since they couldn't expect any support from Catholics, they found refuge in Orthodox Christianity. We, the monks of Meteora, became their allies.”

“What do you know about them and the _Nephili?”_

“Ah, my child, not much. We trust them because we'd a common enemy: Eckhardt. However, we've a couple of legends about them. But I guess your youth won't appreciate such details.”

“Oh, I _love_ legends,” Lara said. “Underestimating them is a big mistake.”

Minos smiled. “Concerning the _Nephili's_ origins you already may be informed. God's angels descended to Earth and joined Eve's daughters. From this union were born these hybrids of angels and mortals, who retained more of angel than of mortal, and were called the Giants for their tall and slim shapes. Well...another legend says the Lux Veritatis are exactly their antagonists, only with more of mortals than angels.”

Lara laughed. “Are you telling me that the Lux Veritatis are also angelic hybrids?”

“Truth be told, nobody knows where they came from. But they certainly possessed qualities which can hardly be described as "common."

Lara frowned as she pondered: “Well, I've seen Kurtis doing really weird things. He can alter the objects around him; make them move, explode, fly. He can send his mind to the past; he can get out of his own body. But it's hard to believe he’s half-angel. Despite how extraordinary his powers are, he’s the _most_ down to earth man I've ever known,” she concluded with a smile.

“Come on, my child, how many people in the world have _such_ a gift? How many could've managed to survive the wound that devilish creature dealt him? Mr. Trent may not resemble exactly the image we've of a heavenly messenger, but certainly he’s _not_ like any other human being. The Order of the Lux Veritatis wasn't _earthly_ at all. It's said that if the _Nephili_ were the Fallen Angels' offspring, the Lux Veritatis are the same, born from angels who remained faithful. They had two categories actually: The Healers, those with healing powers, and the Fighters, those with psychic powers. Mr. Trent and his father belong to the last ones, the most powerful, the ones fighting directly against Eckhardt. That's why the Black Alchemist mostly targeted the Healers, so that Fighters couldn't be healed. This is how he gradually destroyed the Order.”

“Mortal angels. It's a great contradiction.”

“Even the _Nephili_ weren't _completely_ immortal. Only the angels themselves are. And about them we don't know anything...nothing but what the Sacred Scriptures tell us. I've always wished my days would end with the Oracle’s revelation. Now I'll see my wish fulfilled.”

Lara didn't answer, absorbed in her thoughts. She was wondering why Karel hadn’t entered the scene. There were very few symbols left...she was getting closer to the key. She knew the Nephilim had to be hidden somewhere, waiting patiently for the ideal moment. But since leaving Munich she hadn't seen him, she hadn't received a single threat, Kurtis hadn't noticed his presence, and the _hegumenos_ himself had told her that telephone warnings had ended. Where was he?

That very night she'd find out.


	25. Pantókrator

It happened at the refectory. At first the monks were eating separately since they felt uncomfortable in the two foreigner’s presence; but after Mino's severe command, they agreed to sit with them, of course, as long as the woman kept covering her face with the hood and not disturbing them with her brazen and insolent eyes. There were traditions and stereotypes that would never change, despite the time passed. In Meteora almost nothing had changed in ten centuries.

Lara had been avoiding Kurtis all day. He, far from being offended, had displayed a sly smile every time they crossed paths, which in turn pissed her off even more. Now she was sitting next to him, separated as much as possible, while peering from the depths of the hood at all the monks, young and old, throwing piercing glances every time they looked at her, more to piss them off than anything else. Until one of the novices furiously stood up, threw his bowl on the floor, and pointing at Lara yelled: “Enough! Father, this shameless female haunts us! Her entrance into the holiness of our retreat is a desecration!”

“Behave, Pancratios,” the _hegumenos_ said sternly. “She’s here because I've allowed it. Don't forget that.”

The novice was red with fury. Far from calming down, he went on: “Since when is a woman meant to summon the Holy Oracle? How far can we go? We, holy men and ancestral wardens of this place, we can't talk to the angels, but this _harlot_ can!”

A fuss broke out in the refectory. Half of the community stood up, shouting furiously that Pancratios was right and asking to cast out the woman. The other half of the community began to rant Pancratios for using such inappropriate vocabulary. Minos stood in their midst remembering the rules of silence and humility imposed by the community. And Kurtis tested his Chirugai, just in case.

But Lara did nothing. She stood absolutely still on the bench, with pursed lips and a puzzled expression on her face – and that wasn't for the offense. After each meeting with Gunderson, she already got used to all the synonyms for "prostitute" with which he'd gifted her - nor was she afraid of the monks' attitude, usual in people like them.

It was something else. Something she'd seen in Pancratios’ face, while voicing his outrage. At that moment, she'd clearly seen _how his face changed_ _and rearranged itself,_ as if someone was using his face and voice to insult Lara. It lasted only a second, but it was enough.

Enough to recognize in that changing face Karel’s icy glance.

 

* * *

 

Kurtis hadn't overlooked Lara’s confused expression when she arose from the bench and rushed out of the refectory. She wasn't easily upset by nonsense like that, so he promised himself to find out what had really happened.

He couldn't go until later. Pancratios had almost caused a riot in the refectory and the monks wanted to cast the foreigners out. Minos tried to calm everyone, and Kurtis was tempted to throw more than one monk over the window and send them to the bottom of the valley. Eventually all of them calmed. The _hegumenos_ , hoarse and exhausted, imposed a severe penance on the whole community, then left lamenting to the church to pray, whispering: “Evil has arrived to my monastery! Another corrupt soul like Karolis! How long will I be able to resist this?”

It was midnight when Kurtis went to Lara's cell. Through the window, a moonlight beam enlightened the cell with a strange glow. He found her asleep, lying on her bed, frowning as she slept. She hadn't even taken off her robe, but it had lifted a little, revealing a white barefoot, still with a bandage around her injured ankle. Kurtis took the edge of the habit and covered her feet, turned and was about to leave the cell, but then he noticed she'd taken his hand. He turned.

Lara was looking at him, clasping her fingers with his. “Stay here,” she whispered softly.

He sat quietly beside her, holding her hand. “Look at you, M'lady,” he said with a grin. “You're pale. Have you seen a ghost? Or is it the air of an offended maiden?”

She grimaced too: “If I took offense for every time I've been insulted in my life...Actually, it was something else,” she lowered her voice. “I've seen _him.”_

Kurtis frowned. “Are you sure? If he really was here, I'd have noticed him. He can't escape from my farsee, nor can I escape from his one.”

“I've seen him! In that monk’s face, just for a moment.”

He thought for a while, then said: “Maybe he's creating illusions, but in fact he’s not _here_. He's made use of that monk's anger to scare you.”

“Well, he succeeded in that,” she grunted softly.

Kurtis looked at her, surprised. “Whoa, so you’re _human_ after all _.”_

“Don't make fun of me!” She said. “I hate that monster. _I really hate him_. I want to kill him. I want to stop wondering where he is and why he’s going around me without making an appearance. I can't bear being manipulated, blackmailed with the lives I have in my hands, tempted like he did with me.” She stopped suddenly, realizing she'd talked too much.

Lara hadn’t told Kurtis about what happened in the morgue, nor did she want to. When Karel had offered her everything, especially when she'd been about to give up, seduced by that creature's evil spell. She'd felt ashamed of her weakness a thousand times, for having been about to betray that man who was now looking at her, sitting beside her and holding her hand in silence. A man who'd trusted her wholeheartedly and whose life depended on her now.

But if Kurtis felt any curiosity about that episode, she never knew - he asked no questions. “Yeah gotcha,” he said instead. _“Nephili_ can be really annoying, as I've learnt. I'm as eager to get rid of him as you. To make him pay for all he's done to you, to my family, and to my Order. To serve justice once and for all.”

He sounded intense. Lara looked at him. What if what Minos said was true? What if he had something of angel in him? _Nonsense. He’s supernatural, of course, but as far as an angel..._

“Sleep, Lara,” he said, dropping her hand gently and rising. “If this fucker is over here, I’ll notice. Deal only with the Oracle. I'll take care of the rest.”

As he walked towards the door, Lara muttered: “Thank you.”

“For what?” he said, turning.

_For coming to Munich to rescue me. For never abandoning me. For being the best partner I ever had. For drawing me in your sketches. For being my guardian angel...an angel who rides a motorbike._

“For everything,” she replied simply.

Kurtis smiled and made a military salute. Then he got lost in the dark.

 

* * *

 

During the following days, Lara worked frantically. She would spend hours focused on the symbols, crossing out hundreds of them, starting with the most recent. Rouzic had defined the True Option as the mother of all religions. That meant she'd to choose the oldest one, which might seem simple, but it wasn't at all. Who knew what the oldest religion was, the first god worshipped by mortals? Reluctantly, Lara ruled out hundreds of Egyptian gods, and was about to liquidate the Olympic pantheon – which was problematic, since that being the case, there was nothing left.

When she needed a break, she walked around the monastery or went down to the crypt to examine the stone altar. She still had no idea about how to summon the Oracle - she was an explorer, not a Sibyl, but as of now it wasn’t a priority.

Kurtis stood aside, making rounds in the monastery like a warden. But every precaution wasn't enough for what happened the third day.

Lara came out that night to walk around. The monks were sleeping, so she hadn’t needed to endure their unfriendly glances or gestures. She moved raging like a shadow in the dark, sliding down the aisles as she explored every corner of that quiet place.

It was almost dawn when she sat next to a fountain outside the complex, a kind of pool whose depth didn't reach beyond the knees. Lara sat on the edge and took off her sandals. She removed the bandages from the ankles and dipped her feet in the cool water.

There was so much calm and silence, so when a strange noise sounded behind her, Lara heard it perfectly. She sharpened her hearing, but remained motionless. No one who approached slowly from behind could have something good in store. She refused to show she'd actually heard something – better to catch the assailant in the act, so she kept calmly swinging her feet in the water, and when she saw a huge shadow reflected on the surface of the water, stood up and stepped aside. Her attacker, who'd already pounced, lost his balance and fell into the pond. But before splashing into the water, however, he had grabbed the edge of her robe and dragged Lara in with him.

She struggled and kicked her enemy's stomach, whom she didn't see in the darkness. Among all the bubbling and splashing, she recognized a familiar growl. She stood out of the water and tried to jump out of the pond, but then a pair of huge arms grabbed her at her waist and dragged her back into the water.

The black robe she was still wearing was heavier when wet, the fabric clinging to her body and tangled in her legs, making any movement difficult. To make things worse, her opponent had a brutal force, and within seconds he immobilized her, grabbing her head sharply and plunging it underwater. Lara struggled to free herself, but the other held her head underwater, oblivious to her kicks.

 _He wants to drown me_ , she thought as she tried to see her executioner's face. However, under the water and through the bubbles, all she could see was his right hand, which lacked the index and middle fingers. _Gunderson!_ Why was he trying to kill her now? Had he decided to sabotage Karel’s plans and betray the Cabal?

In any case, that didn't matter. What mattered then was to survive. The thug was still holding her head underwater, and if she kept struggling her oxygen would run out soon. To keep on fighting, led by panic, meant to die. _Sorry, brute, but won’t give you the pleasure of drowning me._ She relaxed her muscles and let out the air which she’d been desperately holding - risking her life, but it was her only chance.

 

* * *

 

“You look thirsty. Drink all you want, bitch!” Gunderson laughed loudly. “What, still not enough?”

From time to time he drew her head out from the water and again sunk it. He was too blinded by anger to realize that his opponent was no longer struggling. Surprised, he let her go. Lara's body slowly surfaced the water, drowned.

“Too easy,” Gunderson said with a sneer. He jumped out of the pond. “Thought the fun would last a bit more.”

Well, he still had some unfinished business. He sneaked quietly into the monastery and entered the church. Minos Axiotis was here, praying in silence, kneeling and looking at a _Pantókrator_ ’s icon. Through the open iconostasis, on a table, there were the Periapt and the three Shards, placed to be treated as precious and sacred objects.

“Be quiet, geezer,” Gunderson said when the _hegumenos_ discovered him. The thug slipped down the aisle and took one of the Shards. Wielding the dagger in his left hand, he approached to the trembling Minos. “Did you pray enough, you fat monk? Tonight I'm lucky. I’ve just drowned in your pond that slut who left me unable to wield a weapon,” he showed his mutilated hand. “Hard to believe she did _this_ with her beautiful teeth, huh? Well, now I'll slit your throat as if you were a pig, so you’ll go straight to take your place among the martyrs. Then I'll gut that bastard Trent and in doing so, will also kill the last Nephilim. Then lastly, maybe I’ll have a tour of the monastery and kill some monks, who knows?”

The _hegumenos_ looked terrified at that colossus’ face, disfigured by anger. “May God forgive you,” Minos said as he felt the dagger's blade against his throat. And he closed his eyes, waiting for the end.

Suddenly, he heard a strange whistling sound he couldn't identify; a sickening _crack_ of broken bones and an animal scream that escaped Gunderson's lips.

Minos opened his eyes and went away from the pew just in time to see Gunderson bending in double. A strange glaive was protruding from his back, sunk in level with his kidney. Blood flowed in torrents.

Standing beside the altar was Kurtis. The fire burning in his blue eyes scared the benevolent _hegumenos_.

Gunderson stumbled and pulled the Chirugai out from his back. Then he turned and faced the ex-legionnaire.

“Attacking a helpless old man,” Kurtis spat between his teeth. “How low you've fallen, Gunderson.”

The bully didn't answer. With eyes bulging from their sockets, he let out a wild howl and pounced on Kurtis with the dagger held high as the American unsheathed the gun and stopped his arm. They began to struggle and the Boran fell to the ground.

Gunderson was out of himself - the wound caused by the Chirugai was fatal, but he wasn't willing to go to the other world without taking his hated former teammate with him. Kurtis was a strong man, but couldn't do much against the mercenary's size and musculature. Still struggling, Gunderson slowly pushed him back, throwing him against the Savior's golden icon.

With a cry of rage, the thug freed himself from the struggle and drove the Shard into the hollow of Kurtis’ collarbone. The blade pierced through his flesh and into the gold leaf icon behind, leaving Kurtis nailed to the wall. A wave of blood splashed upon Christ's face.

 _“Méter Théou_ _!”_ Cried Minos, whose terror kept his feet sewn to the floor. His lament merged with Kurtis’ scream, immobilized by pain.

Gunderson tottered back and grabbed the second Shard. Then he came back to Kurtis and hissed: “What should I rip out first? Your eyes or your guts? In any case, I'll send you where I sent that bitch you seem to like. I'll just take my time - hope Karel doesn't mind if I carve you up,” and he threw a boorish laugh.

Kurtis couldn't move - his rival had plunged the Shard so viciously in his flesh that only the end of the handle emerged. In a desperate attempt he invoked his powers to his aid and indeed, when Gunderson approached the Shard’s blade to his face, an invisible force struck him and sent him rolling down the steps, away from the iconostasis. He took that moment to reach out and call the Chirugai. His loyal blade quickly came to his hand, and he held it before him in his stretched arm.

The bully rose again, and half crawling, as the loss of blood began to weaken him, came back to Kurtis. “Fascinating, isn't it?” He gurgled. “If I take one more step, you’ll cut me with that flying thing of yours. But I’ll take advantage of my last scrap of life to kill you. Too bad, you were a good mercenary.”

“I was _never_ good,” Kurtis gasped. “I was _the best_. Better than you. That’s why you hated me and joined my enemies.”

Gunderson laughed one final time, and rushed Kurtis, pointing the Shard to his heart.

At that moment a shot rang out in the chapel.

Gunderson's eyes widened as he fell on the table, knocking over the Periapt and the third Shard.

Through the mist which was beginning to cloud his eyes, Kurtis saw Lara, standing in the doorway, holding the Boran X and dripping water from her black robe. “One bastard less in the world,” she said. Then she lowered the gun and in two strides she stood at the iconostasis. “This is gonna hurt you,” she whispered.

“Just pluck it now,” he gasped, gritting his teeth.

Lara poked the wound with decision and, after finding the Shard’s handle, pulled it out at once, placing a foot against the iconostasis. The momentum made her stumble, but Kurtis fell to the ground like a sack.

 _“Agios O Theos_ _!”_ She heard the _hegumenos_ muttering.

Kurtis touched his left shoulder, slippery with blood. The pain was so intense it felt like the arm would fall off from his shoulder to the ground. A pair of lithe, wet arms embraced him. _Lara._

“Hold on,” he heard her saying, but her voice sounded very far, far away. The world spun around him and then plunged into blackness.

* * *

 

_What do you see, Kurtis?_

_I see nothing, mother. I only feel pain._


	26. The Broken Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's image is an awesome sketch by Adayka.

“A desecration! You hear me, venerable father? A desecration!”

“The holy icon of the _Pantókrator_ stabbed and bloodied!”

_What's up with those jerks? Someone should sew their mouths shut. This hurts, let me sleep..._

“He’s waking up,” said a female voice.

Kurtis opened his eyes. A blurred face was bent over him, but soon he recognized it as Lara. He was laying on a cot in his cell. She was washing her bloodstained hands – _his_ blood – in a basin helpfully offered by a melancholic and dejected Minos. The two arguing monks were at the door, and according to the glance they threw to him, they blamed him for _everything_ that happened.

“You've been lucky, soldier,” Lara smiled. “Could've been much worse. If the blade had touched the bone, it would've crippled your arm. I’m beginning to wonder myself if you've a guardian angel.”

“All mortals have, my child,” indoctrinated the _hegumenos_.

Kurtis laughed bitterly. “All I have is the Grim Reaper lurking over me everywhere. I’m the unluckiest guy on the planet.” He dropped his head again on the pillow and closed the eyes. His shoulder was heavily bandaged, but kept giving him fiery pangs. Probably the blade had severed the muscle.

“Who was that man?” the _hegumenos_ asked then.

“Marten Gunderson,” Lara said. “He worked for the Cabal, but apparently he'd decided to take justice into his own hands, acting for personal reasons.”

“What could've prompted him?”

“I mutilated him. By biting his hand.”

Minos stared at her with horror. Could this lovely girl...? But yes, she'd shot him down in cold blood. The other two monks crossed themselves, sickened.

“Good work, Lara,” Kurtis said faintly, without opening his eyes. “Real _nice_ of you.”

“Self-defense? Survival instinct?” she shrugged. “Why was he _that_ pissed at you?”

“Grudge. I was better than him. The student overcame the teacher and the teacher couldn't deal with it.”

 _As Werner did_ , Lara thought, sadly. Her mentor always treated her with superiority and condescension, even though she was the best of his pupils.

“We must do something with the body,” said a monk. “It's desecrating the chur-”

“Next one uttering the word _desecration_ or derivatives of in my presence will descend to the valley and climb up again without sandals,” threatened Minos. The monks shut their mouths at once.

“Hang that fucker on the elevator net and let the vultures eat him,” Kurtis said quietly.

“Agreed,” added Lara.

Letting out a cry of horror, the scandalized monks fled down the corridor, crossing themselves without stopping.

“Blessed Mother!” Murmured the _hegumenos_. “Even the wickedest man deserves a Christian burial. I won't have this atrocity in my monastery.”

And that afternoon Gunderson was buried on a lost hill in the valley bottom, without ceremony and without a sign to mark his grave, more than he actually deserved. Then the monks cleaned the soiled church and wept for hours over their unrecoverable icon.

At dusk Lara went to the refectory and this time she avoided looking at any monk, not so much to avoid a new fuss - which would be little help for Minos anyway, but because she didn't want to see Karel peering through others’ faces again. She sat next to the _hegumenos_ , who kindly said to her:

“Don't worry, dear. I'll deal with these rioters. As unbelievable as it sounds, the more they grow in holiness and meditation, the more intransigent they become.”

“No problem.” she smiled. “I've had worse in Afghanistan some years ago...” and seeing the Minos' curious eyes, she added. “I came out to the street and forgot to put on my _burkah_. An angry mob lashed out against me with stones, most of them being women.”

Minos shook his head sadly. “How's Mr. Trent?”

“He'll be fine. He's a tough guy, and he has dealt with worse situations, as you know.”

He looked around distractedly. “Something troubles you, my child.”

“It’s Karel. I saw him in Pancratios' face. I don't want to scare you, but you need to know. He can show up at any time.”

Minos nodded, silent. _I know. I've feared that all along_.

“I'm not a believer,” Lara confessed. “Until four days ago, I didn't believe in Good or Evil, which seemed more abstract and like religious concepts than anything else to me. What's Evil, in fact? What may it want, and how does one deal with that?”

The _hegumenos_ sighed and folded his hands. “And you ask me about evil? Let me tell you about evil. _He_ is evil. He is evil through time. He is evil through history. And you ask: what does he want? Power. The dawn so dark. And you ask what can you do against such evil, Miss Croft? You stop running, you turn...and you face it.”

Lara frowned. “You mean I've been running away from him?”

“I’m not _meaning_ it, I’m _saying_ it. No offense intended, child. Certainly each step you've taken since your mentor was murdered before your eyes, you've done it hoping to end all this, but you've also been running away from it. Running away from his blandishments and temptations, from his promises and his spell. But you neither can escape from a Nephilim nor can you get rid of him. You must stand your ground...and liquidate him.”

She let out a snort of indignation. A gentle and peaceful monk was giving her, _Lara Croft_ , lessons about how to fight an enemy! It was the last straw. “I know what I've to do,” she said, rising. “I've never lost sight of my goal.”

“Be careful, dear, pride can make you lose. I'm just warning you that time is running out. So much depends on you. Don't waste the responsibility which has fallen on your shoulders.”

But Lara didn't reply. She left the dining hall and left him sitting there, amidst a community of silent men.

 

* * *

 

_Venus, the Love. Saturn, the Heaven. Gaia, the Earth. Neptune, the Sea. Helios, the Sun._

There were very few symbols left. Very few. But again she stood before a closed door. How to know which of them was the oldest? What had humans worshipped first? Sun, Earth, Love? Anyone could be it, but only one was possible - and there would be no second chance.

Tired of it all, she decided to end it.

Kurtis left the inner yard, attracted by the smell of smoke. He'd insisted in waking up from the cot almost immediately, but the wound needed more time to be fully healed, and according to his halting gait, every movement was torture for him. But he would've preferred to be killed before complaining about his pain. “What are you doing?”

Lara had lit a bonfire in the yard and was throwing all the documents – Rouzic's and her own, in the fire. “I'm burning all the papers.”

“So I see,” he said, mordant. “Shame to lose such brilliant work.”

“Better destroyed than spied on by the enemy. Karel can argue with the fire! I've got very few symbols left and I won't be so stupid as to write down the True Option. If he wants it, he’ll have to find another way.”

For the first time Lara felt safe. She'd made a decision, inspired by the hegumenos’s hurtful words. Her, and only her, had the power and control of the situation. She would never consent Karel to humiliate her or to make her feel lost or helpless again. Now she'd deal with him. To kill him, once and for all. She'd plenty of time to complete her lengthy investigation.

What she didn't know was that Kurtis had also made his own decision. He'd just noticed Karel's presence, somewhere in the monastery, camouflaged under the guise of a monk – and this time it was no illusion.

Kurtis was determined to act. Karel would force Lara to reveal the key. Then he’d kill him and put an end to all what remained of the Lux Veritatis. And so the death of his grandfather, his father, of all Order and thousands of innocent people would've been for nothing.

Well, that would be over his dead body. Whether she found out the True Option or not, it was over. After all, what did one more dead body matter? He’d die, of course, but he also would avenge them all. He only regretted that he would break his promise to Lara. But she would understand. She _had_ to understand.

 

* * *

 

It was dark night. Lara was asleep in her bed when she woke up startled and hurried to light the lamp, after noticing a cold breeze in her ear. A kind of frozen breath that had made her shiver from head to toe. That made no sense - the heat was sweltering and the humidity almost unbearable; not even the slightest breeze was blowing.

A bad feeling began to haunt her. She got up and dressed hurriedly, came almost running to the church and entered into the iconostasis. Her heart skipped a beat when finding the table empty.

“Keep calm, I got them.” Kurtis was there, fully dressed and armed.

“You also noticed _that_ , right?” Lara said. “He’s here.”

He nodded quietly and handed her the Periapt and two Shards, but the third one was hooked to his belt. “This one's for Karel,” he said with determination.

Lara looked at him blankly. “But you _can't_ face him yet. I haven’t decided which symbol...” She stopped talking as she read the look in Kurtis’ eyes.

“I made a promise to you, in Egypt, remember?” He said slowly. “I promised I'd wait. Sorry, M'lady, but I have to break that promise.”

A spark of anger and rebellion came across Lara's face. _“_ _No!_ Is this your famous sense of honor speaking? You’re going to die!”

“I know.”

“You know! Sure, you've _always_ known. You lied and deceived me. You intended from the start to throw yourself in this kind of duel to the death so you could prove your honor and willingness to sacrifice. _Traitor!”_ The last word sounded like a whip.

“That's _not_ true, Lara,” Kurtis said bitterly.

“What do I care? I thought you'd settled down, but you've been playing with me. Look at yourself, Kurtis! You're wounded, with one arm almost useless, you've lost so much blood. _You have no chance!_ If you want to kill yourself, why don’t you take that gun of yours and shoot yourself? That will be faster and save yourself suffering.” Lara instantly regretted what she'd said. She bit her tongue. Why was she punishing him like that? He'd always supported her...

“That was a low blow, Lara,” he sighed. “I thought you'd understand, but I see you don't. Know that I've neither deceived nor played with you and of course, you haven't been studying symbols for _nothing_. But now I don’t care about what you think. Karel's here and I'd rather break my promise than risk him forcing you to tell him the key. So if you want to do me just one favor in your life...” he said pointing towards the door, “ _please_ go down to the crypt. There he won’t bother you - I'll deal with him.”

Lara looked at him briefly, and then at the Periapt, on the table. Perhaps all wasn't lost yet. Maybe he stood a chance, if only...

Then she took a step towards him, took his face between her hands and kissed him. Although taken by surprise, Kurtis reacted - he encircled her waist with his arms and hugged her, kissing her with all the roughness and passion of a mature man. It lasted only a moment. Then she proudly threw back her head and broke the embrace. Without pausing, she took the Periapt and ran away from the church without even looking back, towards the Oracle.

Kurtis stood where he was, breathless, speechless. Only after a few seconds he came back to reality. “Ok,” he sighed. “ _That_ was a low blow.”


	27. The True Option

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is a comic illustration of Lara Croft in Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness by Jean Giraud (Moebius).

“Minos! Minos Axiotis!”

The _hegumenos_ came out of his reverie. He was praying before a small icon dedicated to St. Stephen, the monastery's patron saint, that hung near the crypt entrance, when he saw Lara arriving in a flurry of robes. Her cheeks were flushed as she breathed heavily.

“What happened, child?”

“Quick!” She commanded imperiously, “Open the crypt!”

At that time, a hooded figure appeared in the yard. The alleged monk threw back his hood and a cool and collected face appeared, a pale man with blonde hair and blue eyes. Minos had never seen him before, but he immediately recognized him. No more was needed to urge him on. Jumping, he pounced on the closed hatch and opened it at a breakneck speed.

Karel rose slightly in the air and went towards them. Now his face had changed and showed his true form. He noticed the chubby _hegumenos_ withdrawing terrified, but what really infuriated him was Lara, standing and challenging him with a defiant look. “Arrogance has made you stupid,” he said, stopping and floating in the air. “At least before you had the decency to fear me.”

“What are you going to do, Karel?” She said loudly, extending the Periapt toward him. “Are you going to prevent me from descending into the crypt and summoning the Oracle?”

The Nephilim didn't answer. He threw a beam of energy towards her, but she dodged it by jumping to one side. “I'll answer for you,” she continued, relentless. “You can’t stop me! Your life depends on me now! Kill me and you won’t have any hope!”

Among the arches in the yard Kurtis appeared, moving slowly towards Karel. He noticed him and rose a little more. “Indeed, pride has corrupted you, foolish mortal,” the Nephilim said through gritted teeth. “There’s no doubt what your choice will be. You think you can blackmail me with that? No one threatens me!”

“What choice do you have?” continued Lara, distracting him while Kurtis was still advancing with the Chirugai in his hand. “You'll never lay your hands on me, you pig. I'm out of your reach.”

“For now,” Karel granted again, serene. “But you won’t arrive in time. Admit it, Amazon, you've failed. I’m going to kill him,” he said glancing at the indifferent Kurtis. “You can’t do anything for him. If I were you I'd stay here to enjoy the show.”

For a moment it looked like the threat made a dent, but she soon got over it - no one tricks Lara Croft! - and she dropped herself through the trapdoor. The _hegumenos_ went after her and bolted the hatch behind him.

Kurtis and Karel were now alone in the yard. The Nephilim pursed his lips angrily.

“So, what now?” Kurtis said mockingly. “Looks like you've run out of resources. You’ve played your last card and lost.”

Karel rolled his white eyes towards him. “What's the point of killing each other? Why waste your life in this meaningless sacrifice? My cause wasn't evil. I just wanted my people's survival, which your Order destroyed without mercy.”

Kurtis trembled with rage, as if he'd suffered a shock. “You _shameless_ bastard. You talk about survival; you don’t even know how many people you’ve killed! I'm a mortal - not an idiot, and you've become as cowardly and lying as those mortals you've rubbed shoulders with, the same ones you despise.”

“So you want to die? Go on!” Karel hissed. “Think about it, because the survivor will suffer a slow death before passing away. Maybe you'd do better to kill yourself. Your father was stupid enough to fight...which granted him only more suffering.”

But Kurtis didn't answer - he wouldn't let his speech distract him. He crouched and grabbed the Chirugai with one hand and the Shard with the other. Again, he felt those excruciating pangs in the injured shoulder, but the pain no longer mattered. _Nothing_ mattered. All was over for him. He sighed and waited for the Nephilim's attack.

Karel didn't make him wait.

 

* * *

 

The Amazon ran through the dark and damp tunnels full of grinning skulls, while Minos, torch in hand, tried to follow her – in vain, since Lara ran like she'd never run before, even faster than if her own life was in danger. She ran until her lungs burst and the sphere in her hands became heavier than a rock – but she even didn’t stop at that moment. _Come on, child,_ she heard Werner's voice from the mists of a distant memory, echoing in her mind, _sh_ _ow them what you’re made of_.

The robe's strips were entangled in her legs. Why didn’t that goddammit tunnel ever end? A fork, and another and another...bloody maze! And suddenly, the Oracle appeared before her eyes. Lara then stopped and leaned against the wall, panting heavily. Her legs ached and she was sweating in her skin-tight clothes. “Minos!” She cried out, “I need light!”

The poor _hegumenos_ arrived after her, panting like an ox, and fell to his knees. He was too old for that jogging.

Lara walked towards the altar and placed the Periapt in the hole. After a couple of steps back, she began to write the remaining symbols in the dusty steps, while she quoted one by one. _“_ _Aphrodite…Uranos...Poseidon…Gea...Helios...”_

Minos watched her in silence, holding the torch with shaking hands. He felt inclined to protest: How would a heavenly Oracle accept a pagan god’s symbol? However, he didn't interrupt her.

Lara stood up again and set her sights on the Byzantine fresco. The angel seemed to look at her, relentless in his gesture of blessing the world. On each of his sides were the Alpha and the Omega, meaning the beginning and end of everything.

She stepped forward and placed both hands on the Periapt. Suddenly, the orb began to give off a bluish light. The _hegumenos_ stifled a scream. At the same time, the Alpha and the Omega began to shine too.

“Angels!” Lara exclaimed then. “Hear my voice! The Amazon is calling you!”

 

* * *

 

The monks fled in disarray, some running into the crowded elevator, trying to save themselves - others climbing down across the cliff, and the most fanatical and desperate simply jumped into the void, disappearing into the depths of the valley.  Only few, including Nikos, remained steadfast.

The reason for the flight was a savage battle taking place in the inner yard. They couldn't come closer – a wide light barrier was around the spot and repelled them if they tried to approach. Through that nebula, Nikos could just distinguish two shapes fighting each other. One wrapped in a deep orange glow, like a burning flame. The other giving off an intense green light, floating in the air like a cold iceberg. The contrasts of light were so violent that it was impossible to distinguish anything more. Outside that light field no sound reached them, although the unleashed energy made the air vibrate.

“Anything we can do?” asked a monk, disturbed by the evil presence in the holy place.

“Just pray,” sighed Nikos.

 

* * *

 

A golden light spilled through the circular room. Minos fell on his knees, trembling with emotion, but Lara remained steadfast holding the Periapt.

 _You have called us, Amazon._ Those words sounded only in Lara’s mind - only she could hear them. She looked around but saw nothing except that ethereal light. _Hundreds_ _of years ago we made an oath, and now we have come to honor it._

It wasn't a single voice, but thousands, millions of voices talking at the same time, slowly and rhythmically. Both male and female voices; children, youth, adult, and elderly voices. All kinds of supernatural voices around her.

“What did you swear?” Lara said, curious despite the urgency of the situation.

_We vow to fix the mistake we made when allowing our brothers to come down to Earth and beget the half-angels, the servants of Good, the Lux Veritatis, and the servants of Evil, the Nephili. A woman begot them, a woman will destroy them. Tell us the True Option, Amazon, and the choice is yours._

That numerous voice fell silent and waited for a response. Lara hesitated - she was pretty sure about what to say, but the magnanimity of that presence disturbed her. What if she was wrong?

_Hurry up, mortal woman. For us, time means nothing, but for them it's running out. Tell us whom the mortals worshipped first, to what divinity they consecrated the first altar. Draw the symbol with your blood so we can read it._

Lara took a deep breath. Taking the Shard, she made a cut on her hand and stained her fingers with red. Then she slowly drew the symbol on the altar, mixing her blood with the dust on the surface.

“This is the True Option,” she said while her voice sounded firm and confident in the shadowy crypt. “Gea! Gaia! Geb! Earth! The mother of all mankind. The first goddess to be honored. Earth. She was the first, before male heavenly gods were worshipped. For millennia, she was the only one venerated.”

The symbol had been drawn - a circle split into four sectors. The oldest symbol on the planet. _Earth._ The origin of all religions.

For a moment the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, the multiple voice spoke again.

_That is the True Option._

 

* * *

 

Karel collapsed on the floor. The wound on his side was bleeding again, and so were many other wounds crossing his body. He no longer had the strength to float.

The nebula insulation dissolved around him. He saw several monks witnessing in horror the scene. _Enjoy the show while you can._

A wave of energy hit and sent him against the wall, beside a window overlooking the void. _Foolish and stubborn, that Lux Veritatis. Doesn’t know what awaits him._

He stumbled up, just to see how Kurtis moved slowly, with the ready Shard. He also was hurt, with several burns from Karel's beams, but seemed willing to endure to the end.

Gurgling through the blood that filled his mouth, Karel said:

“ _Idiot!_ You will die slowly and badly. You want to kill me? Go on! I'll end quickly while you endure a long agony.” He licked his bloodstained lips and spat to one side.

Kurtis fell upon him and cornered him on the windowsill. “This is for my father,” he said through clenched teeth. “This is for Lara and for Loanna. This is for those who you’ve killed, you and your goddammit Cabal. Rot in hell, bastard.”

The Nephilim held his arm to hold the blade, but it was slick with blood and slipped away. The blade sank into his heart. Karel howled with rage and defeat, and with his last strength, grabbed his opponent’s neck with both hands and pulled him as he fell backwards.

 

* * *

 

_You succeeded, Amazon. Make your choice._

Lara didn't think twice. “I choose Kurtis Trent!” She yelled. “I choose the Light! I choose the Truth! A life for a life. Like him, I want revenge for those who died because of the _Nephili_.”

The multiple voice fell silent for a few seconds, then said solemnly. _A life for a life. Revenge for the innocent. Be as you say._

The golden light danced wildly around the altar and Lara felt absorbed and overwhelmed. She hesitated, lost her footing…and fell unconscious next to the altar. The light flickered and went out.

Minos, trembling and astonished, looked at that extraordinary woman and crossed himself.

Again there was silence in the crypt. Silence and darkness.


	28. Werner's Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image is a photo of Lara Croft and Werner Von Croy in Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness.

A dirge filled the air, the only sound in the monastery, while the first flicker of dawn was breaking on the horizon.

_Kyrie eleison..._

_Xristos eleison..._

_Kyrie eleison…_

Lara went through the trapdoor. This time it was Minos who guided her, still dizzy because of the mystical experience. Upon seeing the group of monks kneeling in the center of the yard, whose walls and floors were charred as if it had been on fire, she frowned. “What are you doing?”

“We pray the office for the dead,” Nikos said, standing up. “We’ve lost the Lux Veritatis warrior.”

Minos cried in dismay. “Impossible! The ritual was fulfilled! Miss Croft...”

“What happened?” She interrupted with a commanding voice.

Nikos looked at her doubtfully. “He killed the Nephilim, sinking the Shard in his heart. But the devil took his last boost to drag him down,” he pointed to the window, still splattered in white blood. “Both fell into the void.”

Lara turned and walked away with long strides.

“Where are you going?” Said Minos.

“To find him.”

The monks looked at each other. “She’s lost her mind!” said one. “No one can survive that fall!”

“He can,” Lara insisted with a cold and calm voice.

Nikos and the _hegumenos_ went after her. “My child,” Minos said sweetly, “you must face the truth. You were too late. Everything you did was very noble and brave, but it’s better to let the dead rest.”

Lara turned sharply and glared at him. Minos went back, intimidated. She was quiet, peaceful; enlightened. Something told the _hegumenos_ _she was right_ , and not crazy after all. “Whether you like it or not, I'm going to look for him,” Lara said with determination. “If he’s dead I’ll bury him. Nobody needs to follow me.” And she went quickly towards the exit. Then she took off the robe - she worn under her explorer clothes, and started climbing down the rock.

Nobody tried to stop her.

 

* * *

 

The descent seemed to last for hours, but she finally reached the bottom of the chasm. There, amid sharp stones, she found Karel’s corpse, shattered by the impact, the Shard’s handle still sticking out his chest. Beside him was Kurtis. He seemed intact.

Lara leaned over him, extended a trembling hand and checked his pulse. He was breathing. _He was alive_.

Sighing in relief, Lara sat on her heels. Then she noticed a burn had disfigured his shoulder tattoo - the Lux Veritatis symbol was distorted. She brushed the hair from his forehead and stroked his cheek. Then she lowered her hand across his neck, sliding her hand down an arm dirty with a mixture of red and white blood.

“It's wrong to abuse the wounded,” a voice said suddenly. Lara withdrew her hand. Kurtis had opened his eyes and smiled with that cynical grin of his.

“Are you okay?”

He sat up and stretched. “I’ll survive. Of course, I gotta ask for a raise. I've outdone myself. Twenty feet...Dad would be proud of me,” he concluded with sarcasm.

“How did you…?”

“It's called mental suspension. You fall at full speed and within seconds you gotta convince your mind that your body doesn't weigh anything and it's not gonna hit the ground. It’s not easy, and I as sure as hell did _not_ expect to achieve it.”

“So you can fly?”

“Wish I could. Just slowed the rate of fall.” He quietly looked aside at Karel's remains, then at Lara. “You did it,” he whispered with admiration and respect.

“Of course I did,” she said proudly. “You doubted me?”

“I _n_ _ever_ harbored a single doubt, M'lady,” he answered, and then approached his face to hers and kissed her. Lara put her arms around his neck and surrendered to the kiss.

Annoyed voices were heard from above. “Don't eat her, man!” “If you insist in behaving _like_ _this_ , you better leave this sacred place.”

Lara looked up and said: “I suggest we hang all the monks inside the elevator net.”

“Agreed,” Kurtis said, before bringing her back to him.

 

* * *

 

They left the monastery some days after, when Kurtis had recovered a little from his wounds. Lara left the Periapt on the Oracle’s altar - if that wondrous sphere belonged somewhere, it was certainly there. Only Nikos and Minos came to say goodbye, to the great relief of both. The _hegumenos_ hugged and blessed them both, then watched them in silence, climbing down the rock, slowly and patiently.

“Do you think we'll see them again, _patéras?”_ Nikos said, with arms folded into the robe sleeves.

“I think not. Not me, at least. But I'm glad of having met them. Those two might be by far the most extraordinary people in this world.”

Nikos kept a moment of silence, after which he said: “How do you think the Lux Veritatis warrior managed to survive the fall?”

The _hegumenos_ smiled, and after a few seconds he replied with a quote from the Gospel of Matthew, taken from the Psalms:

_He will command His angels concerning You,_

_on their hands they will lift You up,_

_So that You will not strike Your foot against a stone._

 

* * *

 

Inspector Köhler ran into the building. It wasn't even five minutes ago he'd been informed that the suspect had surrendered peacefully to the police. He found her sitting surrounded by agents. However, she seemed calm and confident. “Miss Croft?”

“One and the same,” she replied with a charming smile. “Sorry if I _don’t_ shake your hand.”

He caught a fine irony in her voice. Her hands were cuffed.

“Well, miss,” said the inspector, “I guess you know you're in trouble. You'd better find a good lawyer, since you're related to crimes and atrocities of all kinds and your runaway attitude doesn't look good.”

“I know,” she said. “But I had far more important unfinished business.”

Kohler looked stunned. _The girl has bollocks. Is she making fun of me?_ “Watch your attitude. You could face a long prison sentence. If you were in the United States, you could even face a death sentence. Many months of trials are awaiting you, anyway, and you don't want to spend them in jail, do you?”

Anyone else would have collapsed or burst into tears upon hearing this, but Lara just sighed and said: “The sooner we’ll fix this, the better. Go on, inspector. I'm in your hands.”

 

* * *

 

As the German inspector had said, trials lasted for months. It was the first time someone as famous as Lara Croft was facing such serious accusations, and the public soared. As always, there were those who judged her guilty and worthy of life imprisonment and also there were those who believed she'd fallen into a trap.

If this long process was an ordeal for her, she didn't show it - she was always calm and confident. The facts were seemingly against her, but she was helped by Jean, Selma, Ivanoff, and of course Kurtis' declarations, once he was also acquitted of being her collaborator.

Finally, against all odds, Lara was acquitted too, as it was proved that the Monstrum's murders and crimes had been committed by a cult known as the Cabal. She proved her innocence and was released. Nothing was said about the Lux Veritatis or fallen angels - everything concerning that was considered to be mystical ravings and assumed to be Neo-Nazi scientific aspirations.

The day she finally left the court, glowing and surrounded by her friends, Lara saw Winston waiting downstairs. Startled, she went to meet him. “You've come here!” She said, hugging him warmly.

“Yes, miss,” he sighed - the long months of confinement of his godchild had also affected him, for he was pale and aged. “I came to pick you up and bring you home. But first I wanted to give this to you. It arrived the day after you left for Turkey.” And he handled her a mailing envelope. Lara took it, transfixed. The letter was from Werner and, according the postmark, it had been mailed the same day she flew to Paris to talk to him.

She quickly opened it and extracted a letter. All around her - Selma, Ivanoff, Jean, Winston, squeezed in to peer over her shoulder. Only Kurtis remained apart, leaning back on his beloved motorcycle and waiting in silence.

 

* * *

 

" _My dear child:_

_I guess you’ll wonder why I call you such, after so many years. Why I write this now, when I’m calling you and you've resisted until reluctantly agreeing to come to Paris. The answer perhaps is that I'm old and I regret all the mistakes I’ve made. Maybe I don’t have the courage to tell you this to your face._

_Lara, my best pupil, my hardworking apprentice. From the first day I saw you sitting at your desk and looking at me with those challenging eyes, I knew that life had prepared great things for you. I did my best to make you a good archaeologist, a great explorer. I didn't expect for you to become the best, unbeatable. Perhaps that's why I treated you with arrogance and condescension. I was just a jealous man whose pride was his greatest sin. The accident in Cambodia, which left me crippled, taught me about my inflated egotism. But even then I didn’t truly open my eyes. Furious, I blamed you, because you fled when the Iris closed on me._

_From mentor and protégé, we became bitter enemies. But again in Egypt you showed me the pride which corrupted me and made me an execrable being. And when the pyramid collapsed on you, I knew you had taught me a great lesson. So I invested all my time, my money, and my efforts to rescue you._

_Lara, listen now, because I know you won’t listen when you see me. I didn’t abandon you. I'd have never left you. I was forced to quit. The Government estimated that the conservation of the pyramid was more valuable than your life, and they cancelled the excavation permit. I was forced to leave you buried alive. I was forced to leave you for dead._

_As soon as I knew you were alive, that the Bedouins had rescued you, I tried to contact you. But oh, girl, you've inherited my pride and stubbornness, and you didn’t want to hear me. You're angry and you’ll never forgive. It's fate: in Cambodia you were forced to flee for your life, so I thought I'd been abandoned. The roles are reversed now._

_A great danger hangs over me. I fear for my life. I’m looking forward to your arrival. I’ll try to talk to you, but I know you won’t hear the babbling excuses of an old crippled man. At least, you’ll have this letter._

_Your mentor, who finally feels proud of you._

_Werner."_


	29. "It's A Girl"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's image by the wonderful Adayka.

A warm breeze blew through the garden of Croft Manor. A few meters from there was the cemetery and the family chapel, where a slender woman, dressed in an elegant black dress and her hair in a bun, was standing before a fresh grave. The tombstone read:

_WERNER VON CROY_

_1932 – 2002_

_Requiescat in pace_

“A chance to forgive,” Lara muttered, placing a rose on the gravestone. “I'm sorry, Werner. Wish I hadn’t been so proud.”

She had his remains brought from Paris and buried there, together with her ancestors. He'd forever have a place of honor in her memory, for he had made her who she was.

She turned and slowly left the cemetery. A few steps away from the gates, a strong man, attractive despite his sullen expression, was looking at her memorial statue, carved when she'd been left for dead. “Y'know, it doesn’t do you justice,” Kurtis said. “If I were you I'd have it removed. Not nice to have your grave always in sight.”

Lara laughed. “I dare not. It's very expensive and I don't want to upset Father Dunstan.” She took his arm and walked back to the manor. There beside the gates was Kurtis’ motorbike and all his baggage. “So you’re leaving,” she said, unable to hide a slight disappointment in her voice.

He didn't answer immediately. “Lara, we're different. You have your life and I have mine. I can't follow you wherever you go, and you shouldn't condemn yourself to the shadow world in which I move. Karel's death was just one of my goals. I’m tied to a mission, a fate that, as a member of my Order, I must accomplish.”

“Kurtis, your Order's dead,” she said. “And you've spent your life trying to deny who you are.”

“I'm tired of it. I regret having failed my father, my people. I don't know if a day will come in which I’ll settle my debt, but for now I'm bound. Wherever I go, I must go alone. It’s my duty. _Nephili_ are dead at last, but there will always be demons to hunt, evil creatures no one can face but me. It's my life mission and I need to face it.”

Lara looked at him, and suddenly he seemed to be again that stranger who came across her in a Parisian ghetto, more than a year ago. She realized she still didn't know him at all. Kurtis Trent had part of his life steeped in mystery.

“Also, there's my mother,” he said, taking out the dreamcatcher and kissing it. After so many months, he'd enough confidence to make that intimate gesture before her. “I have to see her and tell her that she’s free - that she doesn’t have to hide anymore, that our greatest enemy no longer threatens us.”

“What’s next?” Lara bit her lower lip.

“Next...I’ll go on. I can't stay long in one place. I've no home, I'm a transient.”

 _“_ _This_ could be your home.”

Kurtis stared at her. She meant it, totally. He roamed his eyes over the elegant manor, over the manicured garden. Then he looked back at her. Yes, she meant something _more_.

“And what would I do here? Live at your cost? No, Lara. It's better this way. I can't stay.”

“Should I assume I won’t see you again?” She said with feigned indifference.

 _Not to see you again...who could stand that?_ “I wouldn't say so, M'lady. Whenever you call me, I’ll come.”

“Really?” Lara began to smile.

“That’s the oath of a Lux Veritatis,” he said taking a fist to his heart. “I'll come wherever I am. And if I'm dead, I'll go out of my grave if you ask me.”

Lara laughed and hugged him tightly. “I'll miss you, Kurtis. I got used to my silent warden.”

“Take care, okay? Don’t make a mess of things when going around.” He left her and walked to his bike, pulled from his luggage a little portfolio she instantly identified: his sketchbook. “Take that,” he said. “I made them for you, and guessing by your reaction in the Jeep, I think you enjoyed them.”

Lara glared at him. “So you were awake!”

“Couldn't resist the temptation, M'lady.”

The last kiss was long and intense as every moment they had lived together. Then he got on the motorbike and took off, disappearing down the road. He didn't look back, and neither did Lara when she quietly retraced her steps and entered the manor.

Already in the top of the stairs, she opened the portfolio and flipped through the sketches. She smiled at seeing the last drawing.

It was a beautiful woman asleep on a bed and dressed in an austere monk's robe, showing a foot with a bandaged ankle.

The woman –which was her, of course– was sleeping with a frown and pursed lips. A lovely expression from someone who displays a strong spirit and makes her way through life with courage, confidence, and pride.

 

* * *

 

Giselle slowly climbed the gangway to the ship. One employee, upon seeing her, rushed to help her with the luggage. “Thanks,” she said, smiling with her white teeth.

“Heading to Argentina on vacation, ma'am?”

The Nordic blonde looked uneasy at the employee - but his smile was honest and the question innocent. “Yes,” she said. “I want to relax a little. I've had too much work and that's not good for the baby.” She touched her swollen belly.

The employee estimated about six months, feeling surprised that a pregnant woman wasn't accompanied by anyone, but refrained from asking questions. “Congratulations,” he said. “You already know what it is?”

Giselle smiled again and said nonchalantly: “It's a girl.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you got here, thank you very much for reading my fanfic. And if you enjoyed it, you'll probably also like to know that this sequel to AoD has, in turn, another sequel. This continuation of "The Golden Seal" is called "Lilith’s Scepter", and this fanfic is much longer and with higher doses of mature content (sex, violence and strong language). I hope it is to your liking and thanks again for being there.  
> Many thanks to Claire Sail for being my faithful and hardworking beta reader and helping me to fix this messy translation!!!!!!!!


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